A Knight Alone
by Rdr2
Summary: Angela Marshair, abeautiful young Jedi must prevent a power-hungry admiral from unleashing a technological terror on the fledgling Federation...without the help of her friends. COMPLETE
1. Ambition's Gambit, Ch 1

_**A Knight Alone, Book One: Ambition's Gambit**_

_Timeline:_ 32 years after the Battle of Yavin

**Chapter One: The Conspirator's Ale**

Two figures writhed in entwined ecstasy upon the shared bunk, the sheets twisting around their legs with each gasping breath. Hot kisses trailed down sweat-slicked flesh. Passion permeated the air. At the moment of climax, Ran Tonno-Skeve pressed his lips hard against Angela Marshair's, riding their mutual delight to its end. He lay back against his pillow as Angela rested her head against his heaving chest.

"I'm going to miss this," she murmured.

"It can't be helped," Ran said. "Master Skywalker wants us to stay grounded for a few days. It'll be good to show the people that the Jedi want to take an active role in judiciary matters."

"You sound like an old bore," she noted, kissing his neck. "Too many big words. You really _are_ a Jedi Master." She crawled over him and nibbled at his ear. "You should have asked for one of those long-range scouting assignments. Lots of time in hyperspace. Lots of time alone."

"You know I tried, but I think Master Skywalker's getting a bit suspicious about our relationship."

Angela wrinkled her nose. "As if it's a secret. Everyone knows we're sleeping together. So what if Skywalker's got a rod up his backside about it?"

Ran chuckled. "A noblewoman like you shouldn't talk like that. Makes you sound trashy."

"Having a gutter-born street urchin like you for a Master? I'm not surprised."

They lay in their bunk aboard Ran's ship, the _Nebula Dancer_, a temperamental old bucket of bolts and wires with a pair of big engines slapped on the back. Its systems hummed in time with their heartbeats. The couple felt truly at home in the quiet transport, and when they made love, it was almost exclusively on board.

"What time is it?" Ran took Angela's hand in his own and looked at her chronometer. "Ah, rats. Looks like alone time is over, my love." He kissed her forehead. "We'll be dropping out of hyperspace soon. The last thing the Rakarisians will want to see is my naked butt." Ran slid out of bed, bending over to pick up his trousers. Then he felt a burning slap against his rear and let out a yelp.

"I happen to like your butt," Angela chuckled, tossing a boot his way. They dressed and made their way to the cockpit. Moments later the ship fell out of hyperspace. The Core World of Rakaris loomed before them, an industrial world of metal and blinking lights. Hundreds of ships flew around them, navigating the space lanes. Some jumped to lightspeed only to be replaced by those dropping out of it. It was an orchestra of galactic chaos, the hum and thrum of commerce and civilization.

Ran frowned. "I'd rather take on gundarks and rancors than this," he groused.

"I do believe you once told me that missions like this are a necessity," Angela said, brushing her shoulder-length brown hair with her fingers. "Damn it, Ran, I wish you wouldn't grab my hair when you get excited. You always get it tangled."

"I'll try not to next time, Angie, but you know I'm a sucker for brunettes." He maneuvered the _Dancer_ toward the planet, activating his transponder to signal his landing codes. "By the Force, I hate these missions."

"Again, you said they were necessities."

"When I said that, you were in the role of antsy apprentice and I was the Jedi Master," he reminded her. "Now you're not so antsy, so I can stop being the mysterious and wise Master. Now I can be just an irreverent Master instead."

"I was never antsy," the brown-haired girl retorted with indignation. "I am a model student and always have been." She tilted her chin up imperiously, but was only able to maintain the look for a pair of heartbeats before laughter shook her. Ran joined in as he cycled the ship into landing.

"Better go to the dutiful apprentice mode," Ran told her. "No public displays of affection and all that."

"The Jedi have some real strange rules, _Master_," Angela remarked, emphasizing his title. Ran only smiled. In public, the title was one of respect. In private, it became a sultry, seductive call to love. The smile became rueful; the title of Master would have to be of the former persuasion for now.

They docked at Atari City, capital of Rakaris, and disembarked. A suave, purple-skinned Twi'lek male was waiting for them at the foot of the landing ramp. "Ah, masters Jedi," he greeted warmly. "I am Sierra Mano, a representative for Admiral Adguard."

Ran and Angela had been sent by Master Skywalker to help maintain the peace on Rakaris, which had gone under martial law during the Yuuzhan Vong war. With the war's end, martial law was expected to be lifted, but Admiral LeFrein, the man who instated the policy and who had strong political connections to the pre-war Senate, refused to return the reins of power to the democratic parties of Rakaris. Admiral Adguard, LeFrein's chief political rival and friend to the democrats, had called upon the Jedi to render a settlement.

Ran bowed to the Twi'lek. "I am Ran Tonno-Skeve and this is my apprentice, Angela Marshair. We will do what we can to aid the Admiral's cause. Where is he now?"

The Twi'lek gestured deeper into the docking bay compound. "Right this way. He awaits you at his estates. A speeder has been provided." He led the Jedi through the terminals and past security. The speeder sat in the parking lot, where a Sullustan driver was keeping the engines hot and humming. They were only meters away from the conveyance when a blaster shot rang out.

Ran dove into a crouch, activating his lightsaber. Angela followed suit only a half a heartbeat after, her green blade at the ready. "Take cover!" the Jedi Master ordered, but noticed with a wince that his words fell on at least one pair of deaf ears. Sierra Mano had taken the bolt to the face, and his features were completely burned off.

"Sniper!" Angela warned, pointing to the roof of the compound. Two more blaster bolts seared through the air. One scorched the side of the speeder. The other Angela batted right back. There were sparks as the redirected bolt hit the roof, but the sniper was unharmed and pressed his attack. The brown-haired girl effortlessly parried each shot. Then the sniper tossed something into the air.

"Angela, in the car, now!" Ran commanded. She obeyed and he turned to the driver. "Get us out of here." The speeder took off, just as the thermal detonator exploded.

"First day on-planet and already we're popular with the locals," Angela commented flippantly.

"We're real hot topics," Ran joked. To the driver, he asked, "Any idea who did this?"

The Sullustan shook his round head and said something in his native tongue. Ran looked at Angela for help; she had an uncanny knack for languages. The girl translated, "Probably one of LeFrein's goons. They've been active lately, trying to keep the democratic parties from coming back into power. But they've never done anything like this before." She stopped translating and looked at Ran. "Master, Rakaris never officially joined the Galactic Federation of Free Alliances after the New Republic collapsed. If these sentiments continue, we might lose a Core World." The implications of such an event could send ripples throughout the galaxy, they knew.

"I'm still puzzled," Ran murmured. "From all the literature I read, LeFrein brought up martial law strictly for keeping the peace during wartime, all perfectly legal and logical. He doesn't seem like an evil or selfish man. Even if he were, he gains nothing by maintaining martial law. All he's accomplished is dividing his people and angering the Federation. And this attack makes no sense."

"What do you mean, Master?"

"A single sniper against a pair of Jedi? That could never work. Something else is up."

They rode in silence until they arrived at Admiral Adguard's abode. The manse was lined with gardens and a cobblestone walkway brought them past a majestic fountain. The manse itself was a thing bespeaking wealth and influence. Ran sighed. He always felt uncomfortable around places like this. He felt Angela grasped his hand; he returned the squeeze. She was a highborn woman. A runaway, but highborn nonetheless. She was used to luxury and could at least walk through it without looking like a proper fool.

The driver left them at the doorstep, where another Twi'lek, the butler, met them. "You must be the Jedi the good Admiral has informed me of," the Twi'lek said crisply. "Please follow me. The Admiral is in the drawing room. Come." He led them to the Admiral.

Admiral Adguard was a strapping human with close-cropped hair that was turning gray around the edges, giving him a distinguished look. Ran thought he looked more like a politician in costume than a military man. A look around the room proved his insights correct: The books on the shelves were not about tactics or military history, but fanfare, decoration, and business. The stands by the fireplace were not laden with war trophies or holoimages of grand warriors, but flower vases and awards for the finest hairstyle. The mantle above the fireplace did not hold the coat of arms of a naval officer, but the portrait of a fat old man in a tailored suit of exquisite quality and expense.

"Admiring my father, are you?" the Admiral said with a jolly demeanor. "One of the leaders of the democratic parties from twenty years ago," he informed his visitors. "A great man of many reforms."

"Forgive my ignorance," Ran said with a bow. "I'm not well-informed about the politics and history of your world. My name is Ran Tonno-Skeve." He gestured to the girl at his side. "My apprentice, Angela Marshair."

"And I am Admiral Toniss Adguard," the strapping man said heartily. "I do not often get to entertain such esteemed guests. Master Tonno-Skeve, I have heard of your exploits during the war—shot down two Vong warships single-handedly, so the stories say! Quite a feat, my good lad!" He clapped Ran across the shoulder with an overly friendly mien. It made Ran feel uncomfortable, somehow.

Angela gave the green-eyed Jedi a curious look. "You never told me this story, Master."

The Admiral boomed with laughter. "It was quite the unbelievable tale, dear girl! I myself wouldn't have heard a word of it—called it preposterous, I would have said—but not for an old protégé of mine." He addressed Ran, "The officer you were flying with at the time, Admiral Zanna Arclite, told me about you and your deeds in person. She was _very_ impressed by you, Master Tonno-Skeve." The jolly Admiral elbowed Ran knowingly.

Angela shot the Jedi Master a sharp look. "She was _impressed_, was she?" the brown-haired girl drawled dangerously. "You haven't told me _this_ one either, Master."

Ran fought to salvage the situation before his apprentice murdered him in a fit of jealousy. "I'm sure Zan—I mean, Admiral Arclite—exaggerated my, ah, _exploits_. But that is neither here nor there. We have come to reach a settlement with Admiral LeFrein, but we need more information. From what I've learned of him, maintaining martial law is against his character."

The Admiral's joviality faded away and was replaced by tired determination. "It _is_ against his character. LeFrein and I have been rivals for years, but we respected each other greatly. In fact, I was one of his greatest supporters when he called for martial law. I have no idea why he would do something like this. Did you know that he is talking of seceding from the main governments of the galaxy?"

"That is our fear, yes," Ran said. "We'd like to prevent that. Losing a Core World would make the Federation seem weak and frail."

"Let's face it," Angela cut in, "right now, it is. But we need to show a strong face to encourage people and ensure their safety. Admiral, would it be possible for us to meet with Admiral LeFrein in person?"

"You would have to talk to a middle man," the strapping man replied. "I can arrange for such an encounter, but whether or not your message gets to the right ears is another matter entirely. Right now, tensions are high, and there's a lot of espionage going on. My men, LeFrein's, and, of course, the third party spies who are out to make a credit by playing both sides."

"We already met one of those 'third parties,'" Ran said. "A sniper tried to kill us at the docking bays. Unfortunately, they shot Sierra Mano, the Twi'lek you sent to bring us here."

The Admiral shook his head. "A shame. Mano was a bright young man with a brighter future ahead of him in Rakaris' political arena. But how are you so certain that this would-be assassin was of a third party?"

"I'm not, I'm merely speculating based on what I know. Our coming was not made secret, but LeFrein, despite his recent activities, would have to be insane to try killing Jedi with only one sniper. In fact, the whole event seems like a sham to me. A single sniper would never succeed at killing two Jedi—and one of them a Jedi Master—without being an exceptional marksman. Even then, backup normally would have been sent along with the main shooter."

"So what are you saying?"

"He's saying that someone wants us to think LeFrein is responsible," Angela explained, following Ran's logic. "And doing a poor job of it," she added wittily.

"Admiral Adguard," Ran said, "please arrange a middle man to meet with us on neutral grounds, preferably an open place where would-be assassins will find it difficult to attack us without our knowing."

The Admiral nodded. "I will have one set up for tonight. In the meantime, please partake of refreshments and make yourself at home."

* * *

Angela took in the rich smell of the wine in her hands. It was a recent vintage, not yet aged, but with a full color and a light taste that she could appreciate. She had never tried Rakarisian alcohol before, and found that their preparatory techniques yielded a flattering bouquet of flavor. It reminded her of home, when her doting parents had held regal dinners for their guests. Wine flowed liberally in those days, but handled with the refined etiquette of true nobility. She was like a princess then, her every whim catered to and nothing denied her. 

A part of her missed those carefree days of ease.

"Always be mindful of your thoughts," her Master told her, his footsteps silent against the plush carpet of the guest rooms given to her.

Angela set her glass down and gestured to the seat next to her. They were on the balcony, an ocean view of a Rakaris afternoon before them. "You should try this, Master." She poured him a glass and offered it.

He took the drink and downed it on one gulp, coughing and sputtering as a result.

She frowned at him. "You did that on purpose. I've told you twenty times to _sip_, not _binge_. This isn't Corellian ale, you know."

Her green-eyed Master threw her a disarming grin. "Of course I did it on purpose. You know I can never ignore a word from your lips." He kissed those lips. "But really, something's on your mind. Is it about your family?"

"Yes." She looked out over the crashing waves. Her mother had a summer mansion on the coastline. She would go to the beach as a little girl, clutching her teddy bear. She never went into the water, though—she had been afraid of getting her bear wet.

"We could visit them, you know."

She shook her head. "I wouldn't be welcome, I've told you that. My parents and I parted badly. It's better to let scabs lie closed, Ran."

"I disagree, but if this is what you want, I won't argue."

"Thanks."

He poured himself another glass, this time taking his time when he drank. "Adguard said the middle man will be ready in about fifteen minutes. We'll be going alone in an unmarked speeder he arranged. The man certainly has resources to organize all of this so quickly. So, what do you think of him?"

"The Admiral?" The girl finished off her wine and poured herself another. "He reeks of politician. I'd venture a guess and say that he didn't earn his rank by deed. Actually, I pulled up his file a little while ago—the unedited version. It was a neat little slicing job, if I do say so myself. Anyway, his father arranged for his admission into the officers' academy. Even then, Adguard was keen of mind. Between him and his father, they pulled enough strings to elevate him to Admiral in under five years."

"What do the democrats think of him? Did you pull anything on that?"

"A little. There's not a lot there that isn't on the media or public knowledge. Adguard, for all his maneuvering, is an up-and-up man, and his honesty is one of the reasons why the democrats trust him. Its rare to find honesty with political skill these days, especially considering how many Senators are taking the Bothan approach to power politics."

"What about LeFrein?"

She shook her head. "Couldn't slice those files. Locked up tighter than the _Nebula Dancer_'s hyperdrive engines on a good day. By the way," her eyes narrowed suspiciously, "who's this Admiral Zanna Arclite? She doesn't have brown hair, does she?"

He smirked at her. "Why, jealous?"

"I'd just like to know more about the woman I'm going to kill."

"Well, she's not a brunette. She's a redhead."

"Then I'm definitely going to kill her."

"But she's not a brunette!"

"Right, but I've yet to meet the man who wouldn't want to hop into bed with a redhead. They're _always_ trying to find out if a redhead's red _everywhere_, juvenile fools that they are."

Ran wrapped his arms around her, hugging her from behind. He kissed her hair. "Well, you don't have to worry about that. Yes, I had a—very—brief relationship with Admiral Arclite, but that's all under the bridge."

"So how many girls does that make?"

"Eight brunettes, six blondes, five black-haired, and one redhead." He tilted her head back by her chin and kissed her.

When they broke off for air, she said, "I ought to kill you for being a philanderer."

"But we're not married." He kissed her again.

"Doesn't matter. Damn it, I don't know why I let you get away with things like this?"

"Like what? I've been completely faithful to you—as I have been with every other woman I've had a relationship with, up to when I broke up with them. It's a good, clean record. Besides, I'm convinced you're my one and only."

"Oh really? What makes you say that?"

"It is the will of the Force." His grin took in his ears.

She laughed and wrapped her arm around his waist. "That's a trump card if I ever heard one. All right, you rake, let's get your poo-eating grin moving. We have a middle man to meet."

One speeder trip later placed the two Jedi in a bustling cantina in the rougher district of Atari City. Here, people wore their blasters and vibroswords openly, for the anti-weapon laws that were prevalent throughout the rest of the region held little sway. Angela kept a hand on her lightsaber, ready to bring it to the fore should the need arise.

"There's our man," Ran said, nodding his head toward a nondescript man sitting by a stage with dancing girls. A nearby Bith band rolled toe-tapping music, matching the quick-nerve rhythms of the crowded bar. "I'll leave this to you."

"Where will you be, Master?" Angela asked, though knowing Ran, she could guess easily enough where he was going.

He winked at her. "Wine is good and all, but I'm a gutter-born boy. Whiskey and paint thinner is more my alley. Come get me when you're done or when I'm under the bar. Whichever is first." With that, he strode for the tap, hailing an Ithorian bartender.

Angela sighed, shook her head, and went to work. She ordered two mugs of ale, went up to the nondescript man's table, pulled herself a chair, and set the mugs down before him. The man looked up at her warily, but took one of the mugs. "You must like the view," she said to him, nodding toward the scantily-clad dancing girls. Angela turned an aristocratic nose at them. Not only did she find the concept of dancing girls demeaning, but she could do a better Twi'lek erotic dance than those hags on the stage. Ran had said so once. "I'm here to see a few new things as well."

The man perked up at her use of the code words the Admiral had given her. "The view is better when you're high up, like in space. I'm heading up there soon, you know. I'm a messenger. If you got a message, I can get it sent—anywhere you want."

"Well," the brown-haired girl drawled, "fifty credits says that you will be telling Admiral LeFrein that I have some pretty delicate dirt on some rivals of his. No price attached; this is just to show him that I mean business." She slipped a fifty-credit piece under the man's fingers.

"Rest assured," the man said softly, "I get my messages sent on time to the right people."

"I'll be waiting here for a reply."

The man nodded, stood, and left the cantina without touching his drink. Angela sipped hers quietly, taking a slow, casual look around. She had been in many bars since she ran away from home and even worked in a few as a cook and waitress. The usual swarthy patronage was dining in tonight, the true dregs of galactic society. A Wookiee mercenary was cavorting and howling with a Trandoshan bounty hunter in a corner table. Across from her, three Bimm freighter pilots were boozing up in a booth. A pair of Twi'leks and a human were passing bags of spice to a shady Aqualish two tables away. Angela turned her nose at all of them, as well. The collective musk of so many scoundrels reminded her of Ran when he did not bathe for a week.

Suddenly, the green-eyed Jedi himself appeared, laying a large bottle of whiskey in front of her. He sat down—or rather flopped into—his chair. His nose was red. "Good stuff, this," he said, pouring her a libation into her mug, which still held some ale. "Warms…warms you right up."

The girl smirked and shook her head at him. "You're drunk, Master."

"Naw, I'm not," he protested. "Just…just a little gid-giddy. Drink up!"

She raised the mixed drink to her nose and sniffed. "No thanks," she said, putting it down. "Anyway, we're going to have to wait here a while. Maybe a few days, even. Who knows. But the message's been sent."

"That…that's good," Ran said unsteadily. "Anyway, we—"

A loud crash and pained howling interrupted him. The Wookiee and Trandoshan were pushing around a scruffy-looking human man, knocking him into a table. Man and table crashed to the ground. The man got back up and hurled a glass bottle at the pair, which shattered harmlessly against the lizard-like Trandoshan's scaly hide.

"You take back your words, little human!" the Trandoshan hissed in accented Basic. "You talk bad about Admiral LeFrein, we cut you just as bad!"

"You're all a bunch of blind nerfs if you think LeFrein's on the up-and-up!" the human shouted back, balling his hands into fists. "The man's a monkey-lizard—just like the two of you! The Wookiee carpet monkey and the Trandoshan lizard-skin belt!" The insults stoked new wrath within their intended targets. The Wookiee grabbed the man by the throat with one hand, lifting the human a foot into the air and shaking him vigorously.

Angela watched, eager to intervene. "Go handle it," Ran said to her. She got up without hesitation.

She strode over to the Wookiee and laid a firm, restraining hand on his massive furry arm. "You don't want to do this," she said, letting the Force flow into her words, letting it pierce the Wookiee's mind. "You want to set him down and talk this over."

The Wookiee grunted and dropped the man unceremoniously. Angela winced. She turned to the Wookiee and Trandoshan. "So, what's all this? I don't think our Ithorian bartender appreciates you breaking his furniture."

"Who're you to be prying your nose where it doesn't belong?" the lizard-man hissed menacingly.

Angela flipped back her robe, revealing her lightsaber. "Jedi Marshair. I apologize for using mind tricks on you, friend Wookiee, but I felt it necessary to diffuse what could have been a brutal situation. Care to tell me what's going on here?"

"We didn't ask you to interfere, Jedi!" said the Trandoshan. "You shouldn't butt in where you are not welcome!" But the lizard-man's reprimand was silenced by his Wookiee ally's thick paw.

The Wookiee spoke in his grunting native tongue, which Angela could only barely translate. "You accept me as an objective judge in this matter?" she asked. The Wookiee howled an affirmative, confirming her rough translation as accurate. "Could you tell me what this matter is?"

Angela had a challenge in translating the Wookiee's words, but with bits of information from the Trandoshan and the human she got the gist of the situation. The Wookiee and Trandoshan were mercenaries who supported LeFrein's continuing martial law policies, as it ensured that they remained employed to bolster the army's ranks. The human, on the other hand, called LeFrein a power-hungry tyrant, and that he should not be trusted. He even claimed that LeFrein had some plot brewing. Heated words were exchanged and the brawl ensued.

"So this was just a petty argument between contested political views," Angela said with a sigh. "Why don't the three of you just cool off? Don't make me put you in time out." The Wookiee and Trandoshan left the cantina in an indignant huff, but the human remained.

"Thanks, lady," he said.

"Not a problem," she replied. "You mentioned that LeFrein was cooking up something. Do you know anything more about that?"

The human looked sheepish. "Well, not really. I just heard about it along the grapevine. Some people are talking, saying that LeFrein is keeping up martial law because he needs to buy more time to finish some big project."

"A superweapon? A new class of starfighter?" Angela pressed.

"Nothing like that, I don't think. I know people who know people, and those people are saying that they saw some of LeFrein's men going off-planet at the beginning of the month. We're talking big exploration ships here. It's like he's looking for something."

The brown-haired girl turned that over in her mind. The human's information certainly added to LeFrein's growing image as a tyrant—an image that clashed with his spotless file record—but the tidbit was a second-, third-, or even fourth-hand account. There was no way to resolve its veracity. Still, she kept it tucked in the back of her mind. She excused herself and let the human go on his way.

"That took a bit longer than expected," Ran said when she returned to her seat. The red was mostly gone from his nose, though he still sipped at his mug.

"I was picking up some info," she said, briskly bringing him up to speed.

"It would be worth checking out," he said. "Provided we can get inside LeFrein's base of operations."

"Unlikely," she commented. Then she saw the nondescript man return, with a hooded figure in tow. "Or perhaps not," she amended. "I didn't think we'd get a reply this soon."

The nondescript man walked up to her. "This is one of my associates," he introduced, "but as you can see, he is a very reticent fellow. But he has heard your message and wishes to take you up on them. He will take you to see one of Admiral LeFrein's mouthpieces."

Angela and Ran followed the hooded figure out of the cantina and into a back alley. The brown-haired girl frowned and looked at her Master, who gave her an almost imperceptible nod of agreement. This set up shouted ambush. Sure enough, as soon as the two Jedi were deep in the alley, the hood man sprang back and away, doffing his cloak and drawing two blasters. Red bolts seared the air, only to be redirected harmlessly aside by blue and green lightsabers.

But the gunman was not alone. Four more assassins slipped out of the shadows, their blasters hot and seemingly limitless. Angela swore under her breath; against such odds and in such confined space, even her Master would be hard-pressed to keep so many blasters at bay. She looked around desperately, and saw that two of the assassins stood under a fire escape.

"Cover me!" she shouted, hurling her lightsaber at the wire-frame stairwell. Ran stepped before her, twirling his blue blade to protect them both. Angela watched with glee as her weapon slashed through the supports of the fire escape, sending the metal morass crashing upon her foes. She raced to where they lay unconscious and picked up one of their blasters. She sent three shots into another assassin's belly.

With three of the five killers disabled or dead, Angela simply let Ran finish off the remaining two with a pair of redirected blaster bolts. Angela retrieved her lightsaber and dragged up one of the assassins under the fire escape, slapping him awake. "So, buddy, who sent you?" she demanded.

"An Admiral," her captive replied groggily. He slid into unconsciousness once again.

"More evidence pointing to LeFrein," Ran muttered. There was no trace of drunkenness in him now. "But again, it does not make sense. Why kill us off for wanting to speak with him when we had 'information' to pass on?"

"Another third party set-up," Angela reasoned. "Just like the sniper. LeFrein had nothing to do with this."

Ran looked at the dead and comatose around him. "Angie, I have a bad feeling about all this."

"Me too, Ran."


	2. Ambition's Gambit, Ch 2

**Chapter Two: Rogues of Chance**

The two Jedi deposited their attackers with the authorities, applying subtle Force persuasions to ensure that the matter was resolved discreetly. There was little sense in letting the entire city know that there was some sort of conspiracy brewing. The Jedi then returned to Admiral Adguard's mansion.

"It did not go well?" the strapping man boomed.

"Another set up," Ran explained, "again, trying to implicate Admiral LeFrein. It was sloppily done, and I am almost convinced that there is, indeed, a third party involved."

The Admiral nodded, seeming to agree with the Jedi Master's logic. "What will you do now?"

"My apprentice learned of a rumor claiming that LeFrein is looking for something. He needs martial law to buy him time and give him a cover while he goes about his search. I'm intending on joining in on this search."

"I'm afraid I can't arrange anything like that."

"Nor would I ask you to. Something like this requires absolutely no ties to you," Ran said. "If it's going to work, I have to set this up myself, keeping your name out of the picture."

"Deniability," the Admiral said with an understanding nod. "I like it."

"My apprentice and I will need some resources however," the green-eyed Jedi ventured cautiously, wanting to avoid offending the jolly Admiral.

"What do you need?" he asked, his face open.

"A ten thousand-credit line, access to an encrypted transponder for a Corellian YT-2400 light freighter, alterations to our landing records to mark us as the crew of the _Blue Crow_, fake identification for a married couple living in Atari City, associated birth and marriage certificates, and about seven hundred gallons of blue paint." He noticed that Angela smirking at him at the mention of marriage certificates.

The Admiral looked impressed by the list. "That can be gained easily, but it will take time. May I ask what you're planning? It sounds like an expensive endeavor."

"Simply fabricating an alias for myself and my apprentice. If it's too much, I can draw upon my own resources to fill in any gaps."

"No, no, that won't be necessary. A few thousand credits is a small price to pay for this debacle to come to a resolution."

Ran bowed deeply. "Your generosity is greatly commendable, Admiral Adguard. Please send the materials to our ship." With that, the two Jedi left the Admiral's company, heading for the docking bays to prepare the _Nebula Dancer_.

Angela quipped, "Blue paint?"

"It's my favorite color, you know. I thought the old girl could use a new look."

"You're kidding."

He smiled at her. "Only partially. The _Dancer_ is known in the underworld, considering all the syndicates and cartels we've crushed together. Those assassins earlier practically stank of underworld trash. Whoever is sending them knows who we are by now, so a paint job and an encrypted transponder should be enough to throw off anyone tailing us. We should also change our energy and hyperdrive signatures, just to be sure."

"I can handle that, Master."

"Good. While you do that, I'll see if I can scrounge up some way to contact LeFrein and offer him our esteemed services. When Adguard sends us our equipment, contact me on my comlink." He kissed her lightly on the cheek and went off to hail a taxi. "Take me to the Ato Mall," he told the driver.

The Ato Mall, he knew from tourist literature, was the planet's largest commercial district. It never closed and thousands thronged through the massive complex at all hours. On the surface, it was a shopping center with associated offices, showcasing everything from handcrafted jewelry and exotic foods to the latest holovids and speeder bikes. But Ran had worked over such places in his youth as a pickpocket, and knew them to be rife with underworld connections. If there were any way to get in contact with Admiral LeFrein, it was through the underworld.

"It'll be just like home," he mused to himself as he exited the taxi and paid his bill. The sounds of countless sentient beings slammed into his ears with dizzying might. "Time to go to work."

Finding a go-between was almost too easy, though it did take several hours. A few veiled questions and some verbal give and take soon sparked the interest of a female Bothan dressmaker. Ran was browsing through the various fashions, feeling the fabrics between his fingers. The Bothan walked up to him. "I think we can get you what you're looking for," she told him, "but only if you're willing to _buy_ it first."

Ran picked up on the cue, saying, "Do you happen to have this," he indicated a long and elegant gown of forest green, fringed with lace and embroidered with white roses, "in a size four?"

"We do indeed, though the rose design is lily instead."

"That'll be fine. How much?"

She named a figure, and he handed her the appropriate amount. While their hands touched, the Bothan slipped him a small datacard. Ran palmed it up his sleeve, put the dress in a bag, and left the store. Angela would look ravishing in this, he mused with a roguish grin.

His comlink beeped, and he answered. "Angie?"

"Master, the transponder came in and all of our signatures and records have been altered," the girl informed him. "We also got those IDs that you asked for. Mister and Missus Terrik Telemachus—ugh, what an unflattering name. So how'd things go on your end?"

"I think I have a lead. I'm coming back to check it out. By the way, did the paint come in?"

"Forty droids are on the hull of the ship giving the old girl a new look," she replied.

"Excellent. I'll be there in an hour."

When he saw the _Nebula Dancer_, he smiled. Half of the ship was painted in navy blue. Angela walked down the landing ramp to meet him. "It's not a bad color," she commented. "We really should leave it that way when this is all over." She saw the bag he was holding. "What's that?"

Ran said nothing as he drew forth the elegant gown, handing it to her with a flourish. "Well, well," she murmured, holding it against her front, "you certainly went all out today. Trying to curry favor with your lady, are you?"

"Thought it might save me from being killed as a philanderer."

"You keep spoiling me like this and you may very well be saved. We'll call it a protection fee. You've got good taste, Master, but it seems a bit small."

"You think I have a problem with that?" he said with a wink.

She threw the dress at his face with a laugh. "All right, you rogue, let's see this lead of yours."

Ran put the dress back in the bag and tossed the datacard to her. "See what's in there." They walked into the _Dancer_'s cockpit together, where Angela slipped the card into her datapad and began working.

Numbers and documents sprang open on her screen, too fast for Ran to keep track. "It's a help wanted ad, Master," the girl explained, typing furiously to decode the morass of information. "LeFrein is seeking mercenaries to protect a crew of archeologists he's hired. Going into the Outer Rim, near Dagobah. Looking for some kind of treasure."

"Treasure hunting?" Ran said dubiously. "What is this, the search for Irix Tammen's Golden Ship?"

"Nothing quite so epic," Angela said. "Looks like a simple search and extraction job. All interested are to meet at the Governor's Alehouse, an uptown bar and dancing hall." She threw Ran a smoldering look. "Size four, right? I might need help getting into that."

Night had fallen when they exited a hired taxi at the doorstep of the Governor's Alehouse. Angela had exchanged her humble homespun for the gown, adding a few pieces of jewelry she stashed onboard the _Dancer_. Ran had rented a tuxedo, complete with top hat, cloak, and cane.

"You clean up well," Angela murmured.

"Of course," he answered, taking her hand in placing it on his arm. He twirled the cane imperiously. "Shall we, love?"

"Let's."

They walked arm in arm into the establishment. A professional band was playing upbeat swing for the ears and feet of the couples on the dance floor. The air was bustling with conversation, laughter, and good times. Ran waved a waitress over, tossed a pair of credits onto her tray, and took two fluted wineglasses from it. "So, we're just supposed to wait for LeFrein to hire us?" he asked, handing a glass to Angela.

"The datacard didn't say," she admitted, sipping the light wine delicately. She was eyeing the dance floor with interest and then gave him a yank on his arm. "It's been a while since you spun me on the floor, Ran." He smiled at her and led her before the band. They quickly matched their movements to the beat, and soon he was twirling her with the seeming ease of an expert, though, in truth, he had no formal training in dance.

Where Ran had the charisma to make his improvisations look good, Angela had the skill. Ran knew that she had mastered several aristocratic skills, from conversation and art to riding and fencing. Dancing was just one of those many talents she had refined into an art form. Between her skill and his faking, they looked like a pair of master dancers. Their display drew the applause of those around them.

"Skywalker would probably have a heart attack if he saw this," Angela murmured into Ran's ear as they clicked their heels from side to side. "Dancing isn't one of those requisite skills of a Jedi."

"You look great," Ran said admiringly. "I have damn good taste in clothes." She laughed in response. When the song ended, they took a bow to the further applause of the spectators. Ran led Angela toward the bar and ordered drinks. "See anyone interesting?" he asked, looking around.

"No one who'd be hiring mercs," the girl answered, sipping a glass of Coruscanti tonic. Then her eyes perked up. "Wait, over there. The Rodian in the corner."

Ran followed her gaze and saw a well-dressed Rodian speaking in low tones with a Corellian human. But he paid more attention to what was passing between their fingers. "That looks like the datacard the Bothan dressmaker gave me. And look at that—he just slipped him a credit stick. Seems we've found our employers. Let's go make a good impression."

Ran and Angela strode up to the Rodian just as the Corellian left the table. They seated themselves without preamble. The Rodian almost stood up in surprise, a hand reaching into his pocket, no doubt for a hold-out blaster. "Easy there, friend," Ran said soothingly, showing that his hands were empty. "My wife and I are here to answer a help wanted ad."

The Rodian seemed to relax and settled back into his chair. "You're pretty upstanding folks to be doing mercenary work," the alien grunted. "Can't say I know too many mercs who can do the swing."

"What can I say? Business has been good of late. Besides, the missus and I are of the more…refined type of thug, as you might have guessed."

"Well good, we could use more of your kind on board." The Rodian tapped the table. "Starting fees are a thousand credits, paid up at the end of the month."

Angela whistled appreciatively. "That's a princely little sum. Who's hiring?"

"The sum is supposed to keep you from asking silly questions, pretty lady," the Rodian answered gruffly. "If you want in, I'll be needing your names."

"Terrik Telemachus," Ran said. He threw an arm across Angela's shoulders comfortably, "and wife, Callisto." The Rodian nodded, typing the names into a palm-sized datapad. "So, when do we start?"

"Meet at docking bay sixty-seven tomorrow morning, eight o' clock standard time. You'll be debriefed there, meet your travel-mates, all that. After that, you'll be flying in your own ship and following the lead craft, the _Epsilon_. Oh, you might want to bring your blasters—some of those mercs can get pretty antsy."

Ran nodded. "We'll be there."

* * *

Angela and Ran arrived at docking bay sixty-seven dressed in plain coats and trousers, blaster pistols at their hips. Their lightsabers were hidden in the sleeves of their coats; it would not do for the mercenaries to find out about their true identities.

Angela did not like the mercenaries at all. They were an uncouth lot, armed to the teeth with an assortment of heavy weaponry. There was a pair of Bothans, Rosh and Mosh Al'wa, twins with advanced cybernetic targeting eyes and itchy trigger fingers. They looked like the kind of people who would sell their mother for a credit. There was a grungy human fringer, Desh, who wore a flak jacket and hat. He had a vibrosword in hand, a carbine on his hip, and a cigar in his mouth. He reeked of smoke and ash. Leaning against the wall was an Aqualish named Ooroosh. He had the unkempt look of a deep-space pilot, and his flight suit was stained with all manner of food and drink. Finally, there was Kanig, a grim-looking Zabrak holding a polished force pike.

All in all, they were a duplicitous lot that Angela would not turn her back to at any time. They stood in silence in docking bay sixty-seven, waiting for their mutual employer to arrive. The docking bay was empty, with not even a maintenance fuel crate in sight. Angela felt Desh's sleazy eyes on her, and she loudly removed the safety from the pistol at her belt. He got the meaning and averted his gaze elsewhere.

Ran laid a calming hand on her shoulder. "Rest easy," he told her quietly. "These are our allies."

"I wouldn't trust them farther than I can throw them."

"Then don't, but that doesn't mean bite their heads off. Relax." His eyes perked. "Ah, our employer has come, it seems."

A lone astromech droid rolled into the docking bay, a holoimage of a cloaked man floating above its projector. "Greetings," the mysterious figure said. "You've all come for the reward of money, but first you have to do your job. In half an hour, a starship named the _Epsilon_ will leave orbit. You are to rendezvous at coordinates X-thirty-seven, Y-ninety, Z-forty-four, where you will follow the _Epsilon_."

The image faded.

"What's all this cloak and blade poodoo?" Ooroosh grumbled.

The Al'wa twins murmured to each other in Bothese while Desh said, "Who cares? It's probably politics. Are you going to complain with a thousand credits looking you in the face?"

With that, the impromptu allies disbanded with each heading to their own ships. Angela and Ran were in hyperspace only minutes later aboard the _Nebula Dancer_, the starships of their mercenary companions floating in the empty void of the rendezvous point. They waited for only a few moments before the _Epsilon_ lumbered into view, a finger-shaped science shuttle marked with the Rakarisian flag.

But there was something odd about it. Angela blinked in surprise. "Master," she said, "I recognize that ship. That's the _Audhammer_, a deep-space research vessel."

"Oh really, now? How can you tell?"

"They left the MarshTech serials on the engine mounts. See?" She pointed at a line of large code strips on the ship's hull, with each strip punctuated with a _MT_ insignia. "My father knew about the _Audhammer_; most nobles at the time were investors in the project."

"Well, well," Ran mused. "Curioser and curioser. What's the history of the _Epsilon/Audhammer_?"

Angela thought back on what her father had told her. The details were sketchy in her memory, for she was only ten at the time and was not terribly interested in her parents' financial ventures. But bits and pieces did rise to the surface. "The _Audhammer_ was an experimental science ship being developed by MarshTech Industries, but it ran out of funding for the project when the Galactic Civil War broke out. Father was quite angry about the loss of his investment, as you might imagine. As I recall, it was designed to run experiments that required zero- or low-gravity environments."

"Doesn't sound terribly useful as a treasure hunting ship."

"Actually, the equipment on board are probably ideal for such a mission. Military-grade fusion cutters, small-scale mining tools, radiation suits, chemsuits, preservation units, carbonite freezers—you can do a lot with that kind of gear."

"And LeFrein's planning on using it to unearth some great relic," Ran said. "The good Admiral has my undivided attention now. Ah, they're starting to move." Ran brought the _Dancer_ into tight formation with the _Epsilon_ and the mercenary ships. "Angela, get in one of the gunwells."

She blinked again, this time in confusion. "Why?"

"Do you really have to ask? I don't trust those mercs at all. Besides, I'm positive that there's a third party involved in all this—and they know we're Jedi by now. They might try something. In case something goes wrong, I want you targeting them. Use the ion cannons, though."

Angela nodded and left the cockpit, sliding into the ventral turret. The gunnery was cramped and stank of week-old sweat. "Damn it, Ran," she muttered, "I asked you clean this place out. Ew!" She gingerly picked up—and tossed aside—a moist sock that was hanging from the gun controls. "Quad lasers warming up, Master," she said into the intercom. "Switching to ion settings. Targeting computer on. And I'm going to kill you for leaving a mess in here."

"I just made it cozy, that's all," the Jedi Master returned over communications. "Sit tight, Angie, we're going to lightspeed." The brown-haired girl saw the stars stretch into white lines outside her viewport, and she settled back into her chair to wait out the trip. To pass the time, she switched on the stereo system she and Ran had installed months earlier. For whatever reason, stock model space transports simply did not come with decent speakers.

She was humming and tapping her foot to the beat of the Raging Acklays when a green light blinked above her head, following by a steady beep. They were dropping out of hyperspace. Her hands went to the gun controls, ready to fire if something untoward occurred.

"The _Epsilon_'s hailing us," Ran said over the intercom. "I'm patching it through to you."

Angela switched her communications to a general channel and picked up on the broadcast. "This is Captain Pavel of the science ship _Epsilon_." Angela thought he sounded like a spineless, pompous, snot-nosed old man. "You might be wondering what this job entails. I'll be brief and to the point: You're here to protect my ground crew as they excavate a system of underground tunnels. We've had three teams sent here already, but all were wiped out by some manner of predator. Analysis of the predator indicates a relation to gundarks, and tactics against gundarks seem to have great effect against them.

"We are now orbiting a nameless world located near the Dagobah system. If you look to port, you can see that I've already sent down two shuttles: one with personnel and one with equipment. You will land at their coordinates and guard them diligently. That is all." The broadcast abruptly ended.

"What a smarmy little—" Her assessment of the captain was interrupted by her Master.

"Save it, Angie. I'm bringing us down."

Ten minutes later, the _Dancer_ was nestled on flat rock at the base of a craggy mountain range beside the two shuttles the _Epsilon_ had launched and four smaller transports. By the time Angela and Ran had stepped onto the hard earth, the excavation team already had most of their gear unpacked.

Angela looked around, but saw nothing worth her attention. The sky was a dull rust-red from the gritty sand. The air smelled like metal, and she suspected that there were some iron and magnesium deposits nearby, but none large enough to interfere with sensor arrays. Aside from the looming mountains, there were naught but empty red badlands before her gaze.

"Not much of a resort, is it?" the Aqualish, Ooroosh, gurgled in his native tongue. He had his blaster rifle held firmly in hand, his bulbous eyes peering left and right for danger that was nonexistent. "You're the tyke, Callisto Telemachus, right?"

The girl nodded and replied in Aqualish, "That's my name, but I'm no 'tyke,' sir."

"I doubt you would be, but you're certainly tiny enough to be."

"You're my height," she pointed out, finding the Aqualish's boldness more than a bit insulting.

The mercenary gurgled in what Angela assumed was laughter. "That I am, dear girl, that I am. Just trying to break the ice, you know. If we'll be working together, we may as well be friends, right?"

Angela smiled thinly. "You have an odd way of going about it."

"I might at that." He fished in one of the pockets on his filthy flight suit and produced a small fruit. He handed it to her. "Try one. It's good."

The proffered food was bruised in a dozen spots and had wriggling things occasionally peeking out of the skin. "Um, thank you, but no. I just ate." The Aqualish shrugged and messily devoured the fruit, worms and all. Angela suppressed a gag. When Ran joined them, she practically leapt into his arms, so glad was she of more civilized company.

"Oh, so you must be the hubby," the Aqualish bubbled in Basic. "Name's Ooroosh, it is! Marksman par excellence! You're Terrik, right?"

Ran nodded. "I am. So, what's the situation look like, Ooroosh?"

"Easy job. They say there're predators down here, but I don't how they'd get anywhere near us without our seeing them. Anyway, between my gun and those Al'wa brothers' telescoping eyeballs, we shouldn't have any problem with them."

"I will try to share your confidence," the green-eyed Jedi replied respectfully.

Angela spoke in Aqualish, "I take it you've worked with the Al'was before?"

"Aye, tyke, aye. They're good shooters, better since they got their eyes replaced. I worked with them out on the fringe, doing bodyguard and assassin jobs. Messy business, assassin jobs—never liked them myself—but those Al'was take to it like they were born for it. Maybe they were; you never know with Bothans."

"You make them sound untrustworthy," the brown-haired girl commented.

The Aqualish nodded emphatically. "I worked with them, but I didn't like them. They always got their hands in something deeper, bigger. Always felt like they were going to shoot me in the back or slide a knife between my ribs. No, girl, I wouldn't trust them for a million credits. They're bad news."

And possibly part of whatever third party is involved in this puzzle, Angela thought. What better way to destroy LeFrein's operations, she believed, than by putting saboteurs in it? She would have to pass her theory onto her Master once they had a moment alone.

But for now she resumed her conversation. "What about the others, Ooroosh? Heard anything about them?"

"Kanig's a newbie," the Aqualish answered readily. "Only a year into the business. But he had a busy year—killed Fender Morrow, a noted bounty hunter on the fringe. That earned him a name from Tatooine and on, it did. Bit of an edgy sort, I think. Seems to be real concerned about his reputation, especially after the Morrow kill. I would be too—all sorts of young bucks and old veterans wanting your hide since you killed one of the best in the game. Feel mighty sorry for the lad. He's one of those fighters who shouldn't be a fighter.

"Now Desh there, he's a rake at the gates of hell, he is. He's been around a long time. Some say he's part Mandalorian. Likes the women and the drinks."

Angela recalled the fringer's lecherous gaze. "Don't I know it," she grumbled acidly.

"Aye, he gets to you that way. Worked with him a bit, but not as closely as with the Al'was. Desh is one mean bad guy, you know? Real scumbag who'd kill a baby if he were paid enough. That vibrosword he's toting? Say its from his father—killed his old man in bed while he was sleeping around with another woman. Said it was avenging his mother's good name or some such. I think he just wanted the sword. But you look like nice people; you ought to stay away from scoundrels like him."

Ran suddenly wrapped an arm around Angela's waist. "Too late," he said with that insufferably handsome grin, "she already married me."

Ooroosh gurgled with laughter. "How cute. Been married long?"

"No, just recently," Angela answered, looking slyly at her lover.

"All right, people!" shouted one of the scientists across the way. He was waving his hands, getting everyone's attention. Droids and technicians were scurrying hither and thither, loading hoversleds with all manner of equipment and sending them on their way. "We're moving out! You mercenaries start earning your keep!"

Ooroosh clapped Ran on the shoulder and gave Angela a polite bow. "I'll talk to you two later. It was nice meeting you!" Then he ran off, heading for the front of the equipment caravan.

Angela stood on tiptoe and laid her chin on Ran's shoulder. "We better get moving, love. I don't want to miss out on our first semi-legitimate job together."


	3. Ambition's Gambit, Ch 3

**Chapter Three: Fate's Ways**

The caravan of archaeologists, scientists, and mercenaries plodded deep into the mountains. The way was rough and uneven, and several of the hoversleds tipped over on the steep inclines, spilling equipment upon the rocks and forcing the team to delay their journey. Five days they lumbered along through the wild lands, ignoring the heat that grew to near-unbearable hellfire during the day and finger-numbing frigidness at night. Sometimes, they were caught in a sandstorm and had to drop behind ledges and boulders for protection. On those occasions, the caravan was stopped for long, tedious hours.

Angela spoke with Ooroosh often on the journey, gaining his trust and friendship. Though her initial impression of the Aqualish was that of slimy, filthy, gutter-bred rubbish, he turned out to be a grandfatherly figure with years of adventuring experience and a head full of stories. During the cold nights when she and Ran were sitting under the stars wrapped in a warm blanket, Ooroosh would join them and regale them with tales of his homeworld of Ando and the other planets he had seen in his many travels. Angela knew that Ran was a lover of stories and myths, and was not surprised when he and the Aqualish swapped tales long into the night, after she had taken to bed.

Angela was more interested in Ooroosh himself, and he obliged her curiosity with pictures and other mementos of his family: a wife, four daughters, and a family pet that looked something like a kath hound. "All four of my dear girls are married off now, like you, Callisto," the Aqualish told him with a mixture of fatherly sadness and pride. "They have their own tykes to take care of and have no more time for little old me. Oh, I visit them when I can, always with some gift or toy for the grandkids. But after they got their own families, we just grew farther and farther away. Makes me wish I'd been around them longer."

"What do you mean?" she asked, wanting to understand the source of his sadness.

"I've always been an adventurer, lass," he replied morosely. "I just can't help but get in trouble, seeking out that new relic or hunting down that exotic animal or dueling this or that top-notch gunfighter. Kept me away from my family, it did, and the tykes grew up without me. I didn't even notice it until it was right in my face—they got married and all I could do was see them off."

After that, Ooroosh spoke no more of his family. But his words left Angela feeling empty and cold. Her parents always doted on her, never let her go with wanting. But they were rarely around, embroiled in business and politics as they were. She developed her rebellious streak _because_ they were never around, eventually left home _because_ of it. Did she hurt them? Did she leave them as sad as Ooroosh? Did they regret not being there?

When she went to bed that night, she snuggled against Ran and said, "When this is over, I want to go home." Half-asleep, her lover mumbled an unintelligible grunt that she took to be an affirmative.

The night brought solace from soul-searching. The morning brought trouble.

At five days into their journey, the caravan was due for a delay of the most physical kind. One of the Al'wa brothers—Angela could not tell which was which—shouted, "Gundarks! To arms!" The caravan scrambled for weapons and cover as a horde of green four-armed humanoids lumbered over the rocks from all sides.

They looked like gundarks save for their insect-like heads and fearsome mandibles. With frightening speed, the predators clove through the ranks, their clawed hands tearing through metal, plastic, and flesh. Blaster fire scorched the air and the rocks, seared green hides, and elicited pained, animalistic screams.

Angela drew her blaster pistol and added her firepower to the fray. One of the creatures turned on her, charging with the might of a bantha. But she held her ground and refused to let even an ounce of fear show through her warrior's resolve. She spat bolt after bolt after bolt, each time splashing energy into the great beast's face. It fell dead only two steps away from her, but she did not bother to revel in her victory—more of the monsters were still running through the caravan.

"If only I could use my lightsaber," she muttered, spitting blaster bolts into the chest of another four-armed creature. It, too, collapsed against her onslaught. Another of the predators howled as one of its arms was burned off, courtesy of Ran's sharp shooting. He waved at her from behind the large corpse, which she returned heartily.

"Come, you mindless beasts!" came a shout. Angela saw the fringer, Desh, standing atop two of the creatures, his vibrosword in hand. Three more of the monsters rushed him, and she thought he would soon meet a grisly end. She brought her blaster to bear but found that it was not necessary. The predators fell away, their throats cleanly cut. Desh stood proudly, bathed in blood.

Below him, Angela saw another hard fight, but with much less fanfare. The Zabrak Kanig twirled his force pike with expert care, ending its motion by thrusting it deep into the gut of an approaching predator. It fell to join the bodies of its kin, another victim to the Zabrak's weapon expertise. When another of the beasts came up behind the unsuspecting mercenary, Angela let loose a stream of fire, dropping it in its tracks. Kanig looked surprised and then saw her. He smiled and waved his gratitude. Angela nodded and saluted him.

Then the battle was over. The horde was slain, with only a few of the creatures fleeing the field. Angela beheld the carnage in their wake. Easily half of the caravan's equipment and staff lay in pieces—some of them bloody pieces. The treasure hunt had claimed its first victims.

* * *

"Ow!" Kanig yelped as Ran tightened a bandage over the Zabrak's shoulder injury.

"Don't complain," the green-eyed Jedi told him coolly. "You're lucky that this is only a flesh wound. Some of those scientists weren't as fortunate."

"I know," the young Zabrak said, lowering his head. "I tried to protect them earlier, but I got separated when the fighting started."

Ran patted him on his good shoulder. "I'm not going to say that you shouldn't feel bad about this, but there was nothing you could have done if you were there. Those things tore right through us. One man alone wouldn't have been able to save those people. Look on the bright side—we routed the beasts and sent them packing. The other scientists are still alive, and so are all of us mercenaries."

"Still a heavy toll," Kanig whispered.

"Indeed it is," Ran quietly agreed. The young Zabrak was surprisingly compassionate for a mercenary. Ooroosh was right about this one, the Jedi Master thought. His heart isn't in this sort of work. "Come on, Kanig. We're taking point. Those scientists have gotten jittery after that last attack and they want all their firepower in front of them when they start going into the tunnels. Now buck up; you're a soldier. You got to earn your keep, as they say."

"I'll try, Terrik. Thanks." The Zabrak got up and strode forth.

The caravan had reached its destination only an hour after the attack. A great cave in the side of the mountain led deeper underground, into a system of tunnels. Even the cave itself held great historical import, for its walls and floor were hewn stone—hinting that some manner of civilized beings had taken the time to work the land to their desires.

Ran had explored some of the cave while the scientists prepared their gear. He had adventured in enough tombs and underground hideaways to know that they were usually cool and moist near the surface, growing increasingly drier as they deepened. But that was not the case with this cave. It was unusually warm, without a hint of moisture in the air. And he had sensed a presence, ancient and waiting….

Ran was not very strong in the Force. His greatest weakness was his general inability to detect the presence of life forms around him. Over time, his skill in related techniques had improved, but it was still inferior to what many other Jedi could accomplish. He usually only sensed the presence of truly powerful beings and the fact that he was sensing one somewhere in the cave or in the tunnels made him wary.

Angela walked up to him held his arm. "You feel it too," she said. She was far stronger than he was in the Force, he knew, and he trusted in her abilities.

"I can't tell if it is good or evil," he told her.

"I can't either. It feels like someone's mother waiting for her children to come back to her."

"Things begin to grow more complicated." Ran mused. "Look at it, Angela. LeFrein maintains martial law in order to secretly excavate something that radiates in the Force. A third party wants to keep the Jedi out of the picture by killing us. Incidentally, they implicate LeFrein as responsible, which in turn could draw the attention of the authorities, forcing them to put him down and close down his operations."

"It's a nice little package," Angela agreed. She looked at him slyly. "Since when did you grow a brain?"

"I didn't," he replied with a winning grin. "I'm borrowing Ascera's."

The two Jedi and the mercenaries led the way into the cavern system, the caravan following several meters behind. At Ran and Ooroosh's advising, the mercenaries would scout ahead in pairs. For the sake of security—and because he simply did not trust anyone as ruthless as Desh or as duplicitous as the Al'wa brothers—Ran paired up with Desh and had Angela pair up with one of the Al'was. Ooroosh was asked to keep tabs on the other Al'wa while Kanig stayed with the caravan. In this formation, Ran claimed, each pairing would have a long-range gunner and a short-range fighter. He hoped that none of the mercenaries knew that his distrust of them was the driving force of his commands.

The tunnels were intricate, dry, and assuredly manmade. Ran was no scholar or architect, but even he could judge the great age embedded in the hewn stone. Occasionally he saw scraps of durasteel or some other fabricated alloy suggesting advanced civilization. Those clues became more and more frequent the deeper they delved: eating utensils, scraps of decayed clothing, bits of bone. The Jedi Master had a feeling in his gut that something grave and terrible had occurred in the ruins, something that destroyed an entire underground empire.

The mercenaries passed the second level, descended into the sixth, and further on into the tenth. They came to the section of tunnels that had gone unexplored by the other excavation teams. It was here that they saw the remains of those teams. Blood splattered the walls red and equipment and sensor systems lay in shattered pieces. Ran saw Angela cover her mouth in horrified shock, for she had never seen such devastation. He was barely able to contain his disgust himself.

"Fan out," he told the mercenaries. "Let's see if we can't find whatever did this."

"Who died and made you boss?" Desh protested darkly, taking the safeties off his pistols.

The green-eyed Jedi turned on the fringer, reining in his own irritation at the pompous gunfighter. "Look, we don't have time to argue. Most of these bloodstains are only a few days old, but there are some fresher puddles over by that computer terminal. Whatever killed these men is still around here, probably with some survivors, eating them at its leisure. Which suggests, by the way, that it's intelligent enough to hoard food."

The gunfighter looked like he was going to say something insulting, but Ran merely leveled a hard green gaze on him. Desh backed down with a tight sneer. Trying to save face, he shouted at the Al'was, "Go check out the left corridor down there. Hurry it up!" The sneaky marksmen leaped to do his bidding, clearly scared of the deadly gunman's wrath. Desh stormed off to join them.

Angela walked up to Ran, keeping her eyes on the fringer. "That one will be a problem," she noted matter-of-factly.

"It can't be helped," Ran said. "He's good with those blasters. We'll need him. Angie, go run back to the caravan and bring Kanig and the scientists down here. I'll take care of whatever killed these men." The girl nodded and ran back up the tunnel system. When she had gone, the Jedi Master waved Ooroosh over. "My friend, how good a tracker are you?"

The Aqualish puffed out his chest. "This one can trail a kinrath spider in a snowstorm," he said proudly.

Ran clapped him on the shoulder. "Good, because I want to follow this beast. Tracks are old, but I'm confident that you can find it." The Aqualish nodded and the green-eyed Jedi shouted over to Desh and the Al'was, "Ooroosh and I are going to scout ahead. Secure this place and have the caravan come in after." The Bothans simply nodded but the fringer grumbled an angry reply, not keen on being ordered around. Ran let him be; there was no use wasting his energy on him.

With Ooroosh in the lead, Ran spent little time hunting the beast. An hour of winding through the tunnels brought them to a pair of battered bulkhead doors with one of the panels so heavily damaged that it was almost completely off its hinges. A looming opening allowed entry into the room beyond, which smelled of wet fur and blood. They had found the killer beast.

It was an enormous creature, easily big enough to fill the tunnels. Serpentine and aged, the monster resembled a cross between a rattlesnake and a lion with six legs, each ending in sharp claws. But its ferocity was caged by sleep, for it rested upon its belly with lidded eyes. Ran shivered as he beheld is raw power and majesty.

But then he saw the bodies beside it—dozens of corpses, taken from the excavation teams sent down into the tunnels. Most of the bodies were half-eaten, some with only an arm or leg remaining. Two long serpents scuttled through the pile of death. It was like a grotesque peep show, with the snakes sliding in and out of hiding. Ran tried not to gag.

"What do you intend to do, Terrik?" the Aqualish asked quietly.

"I don't know," he answered honestly. "I was going to try killing the thing so that it won't pose a danger to us, but it's apparently a mother. I'm reluctant to kill it on that principle. Is there any way to temporarily seal it in there?"

Ooroosh looked up at the ceiling and Ran followed his gaze. Cracks formed a haunting spider web of structural weakness above them. "A blaster won't do the trick," the Aqualish informed him with an expert's authority. "I've handled enough bombs in my time to know that we'll need something with a bit of package behind it. Or some consistent burst of energy."

The green-eyed Jedi smiled. "I can provide you with a consistent burst. Clear out of here, though. No sense in both of us getting caught in a mishap." The Aqualish was about to protest, but Ran insisted and he ultimately capitulated. Once Ooroosh was safely away—and out of sight range—Ran drew his lightsaber and stabbed its blue blade into the cracks.

In moments, chunks of rock fell in front of the bulkhead doors, sealing the great serpentine beast and its offspring within. The Jedi Master coughed as he breathed in dust and patted himself clean. The collapse had trapped the beasts, but the rocks were loose and easily removable. He nodded at a job well done.

Just then, Ooroosh, followed by Angela, Kanig, the mercenaries, and the caravan, came around the bend. Ran hastily hid his lightsaber. "The creature's been taken care of," he told them.

The caravan plodded onward, reaching the twelfth level before stopping for rest. As camp was made, Ran and Angela found time alone from prying eyes and ears. "We might have a problem," the brown-haired girl said ominously. "When I came back with Kanig and the caravan, I found the Al'was sending a coded transmission through their comlinks. I wasn't able to intercept it, though."

"Did you catch any of the code?" Ran asked.

"I wasn't able to get to my comlink's recorder in time. But it was a mix of Bothese and Basic."

"So they are feeding information to someone," he reasoned. "But who?"

"I'll keep on them, Master. Rest assured, I'll have something more substantial later."

"Good, keep me informed and stay discreet. And take Kanig with you. Somehow, I get the feeling that we can trust him." He quickly amended his orders. "But don't trust him too much. Keep him around as additional firepower in case things get rough."

"I will." With that, Angela went back to work.

Time became immeasurable the further they explored. When it seemed as if time stood still, the caravan came across a vast chasm with naught but a thin stone bridge leading across to the other wise, where a pair of iron doors sealed the way. Ran knelt by the edge of the chasm, brushing pebbles and sand aside. He had noticed correctly—there was writing beneath the dust. "Can anyone read this?" he asked aloud.

One of the scientists knelt by him with a datapad in hand. "Some dialect of ancient Massassi," he informed him.

Ran furrowed his brow. Massassi—the old keepers of Sith lore. Something down here, he realized with growing worry, was somehow connected with the dark side of the Force. He held back the urge to curse profusely and unconsciously clutched his prosthetic right arm. More than a decade ago, his last encounter with the Sith cost him his limb and almost his soul. He had no desire to face the darkness again.

"Can you read what it says?" the Jedi Master asked, dreading the answer.

The scientist nodded and read from his datapad, "'To those who would see the _Fall of Empire_, I offer you honor, glory, and deed. To those who do not fear death nor succumb to tire, I will fulfill your warrior's need. But first you must face the Trials of Earth, Blood, and Fire, or be destroyed by your own greed.'"

Ran grimaced. "That's bad poetry, but definitely gets the message across. Sounds like booby-traps from here on out." He turned to look at the caravan and the mercenaries. "Everyone keep an eye out for traps of any kind. Bombs, spikes—you name it, look for it."

Desh stomped up to him, poking him in the chest with the barrel of a blaster. "Look here, scuzzy, I'm not taking orders from you."

"You don't have to," Ran shot back, starting to lose his patience with the arrogant gunfighter. "But if you really want to be the first crossing that bridge, go right ahead. I'm sure you'll do us all a favor by setting off whatever traps are out there."

The fringer gave him a baleful glare, trapped by his own attitude and common sense. Ran knew his dilemma: back down and lose face or brave the dangers and possibly lose his life. Then he grinned rakishly. "Yeah, I'll go on ahead," he said to Ran's surprise. He boldly strode ahead of the caravan, both of his blasters out. Suddenly, he fired at the bridge, chipping rock.

The Jedi Master had to give the fringer credit; using his blasters as a mine locator saved everyone the trouble of looking for them, and if he set off a bomb, he had plenty of room to avoid the blast. The caravan shambled along, reaching the halfway mark of the bridge with Desh still in the lead.

It was silent except for the echo of the fringer's blaster rapport and the footsteps of the caravan members. Something felt odd about that—Ran tuned his senses outward, using the Force to amplify his hearing, tuning its ability to pick out specific sounds. The rapport and footsteps bounced off the ceiling, against a stalactite, down into the chasm, against a wall…Ran's eyed widened. The stalactite! He looked up and saw that it was shaking with every echo.

"Desh, everyone, stop!" Ran shouted, adding his voice to the gunfire. The fringer looked back at him curiously as he fired one last shot. In the sudden quiet, they could all hear the creak of stone. Dozens of stalactites fell from above, spears heralding doom.

Ran could feel Ascera drawing upon the Force, turning the deadly slabs of rock aside. He added his own strength to hers, wrapping his mind around them and hurling them into the chasm. But they could not stop all of them. The larger spears slashed into the bridge, weakening it and driving great gaps in the stone. "Everyone across! Hurry!" Ran yelled, grabbing onto Ooroosh and Kanig before leaping across the rapidly-decaying bridge with a Force-assisted leap. He watched in horror as Desh fell over the side and into the darkness below.

Ran landed by the iron doors, deposited his startled cargo, and turned to see Angela landing softly beside him with the Al'wa brothers in hand. But their deeds meant nothing as they watched the rest of the caravan plummet into the chasm. Not even Angela, strong as she was in the Force, could save them. The Jedi stood in helpless silence as the darkness swallowed their other companions.

* * *

Angela sat in silence as her Master examined the doors. She had a lot on her mind—watching so many people die at a stroke had unsettled her, reminded her of her own morality and, more importantly, her own weaknesses. She was a Jedi, the strongest that had yet lived, but she could not save them. The weight was too much for her to carry alone.

Their identities had been revealed—the surviving mercenaries knew they were Jedi now. They had awed Kanig, and he grew more respectful and fawning with each breath. Ooroosh had taken it in stride, merely shrugging as they reintroduced themselves with their true names. Nothing changed between them, the Aqualish had told them, for they had protected him and the others as well as they were able. Angela tried to believe that, but the only lives she had saved were the Al'was. They chattered to each other in some coded language that foiled her linguistic facility. They eyed her in askance, growing quiet whenever she looked at them. She could not help but feel she had jeopardized her Master's mission by making the Bothans suspicious.

Ran's voice broke her thoughts. "There's more of that Massassi writing," he told them, brushing aside dirt to reveal a line of hieroglyphs. "Don't have a clue what they're saying though. There doesn't seem to be any lock anywhere."

"Then we should just cut it down," Angela suggested, her hand going to her lightsaber. Ran drew his weapon and both ignited their blades. Green and blue started at opposite sides of the door, slowly slicing an opening in the thick iron. When the excised slab of metal fell away, the Jedi led the mercenaries through.

Beyond lay a circular chamber with a force field at the other end; what mysteries lay beyond that shimmering barrier? The chamber was unnaturally cold in the physical sense and in the spiritual. Angela recoiled as the dark side assailed her mind. She staggered, stumbling over her own feet, but Ran's sure hand steadied her as she regained her senses.

"I feel it too," he said simply, with the cool, collected manner of a Jedi Master. He turned to the mercenaries. "There is great evil here. Be on your guard."

"Aye, lad," Ooroosh acknowledged. He whispered to the others, "Feels like a graveyard in here."

"Master," Angela said as she forced herself to stride deeper into the abysmal darkness, "I feel it—the power in this place. It is like some black god with promises of reward. It is asking me to do horrible things!" Ran stopped and gripped her shoulder tight—with his right hand, she noticed. The hand he lost fighting the dark side.

"Do not fear, Angie," he said firmly. "This is the first time you've faced anything of this caliber. But do not give in to your fear. Trust in your skill and training." He looked ahead, toward the force field. "This is what we Jedi were born to combat. Here we will see the fruit of my experience and your study. Besides," he added with a rakish grin, "there's yet to be a challenge that could beat the two of us."

Angela took comfort in his confidence, no matter how much of it was bravado. Together, with the mercenaries close behind, the two Jedi walked up to the force field. Through the iridescent energy they could see a cloaked figure kneeling in the center of another circular chamber. Its back was to them, but they could sense its dark presence in the Force like a great void amidst light.

There were no controls of any sort on the force field, but the glowing barrier vanished for an instant. The figure stood to face them and doffed its cloak, revealing a wiry warrior garbed in the tight black fighting outfit of a martial artist. Instead of boots and gauntlets, he wore black wrappings. His skin was painted like a midnight sky, a black field streaked with reddish-gold in horrifying patterns, and his eyes—his glowing catlike eyes—were yellow slashes in pools of pure darkness. It held a lightsaber in its hand.

"Leave this to us," Ran told the mercenaries, who stood back in the antechamber. Ran and Angela crossed the threshold, the force field reappearing behind them with a hiss, trapping them in the chamber with the warrior. "He appears to be a Sith," Ran surmised.

Angela was not so certain. "Master, its markings are unlike anything in the records. This is no Sith, though he is obviously trained in their arts. And he does not feel evil as much as…elusive. A dark shroud over something. Master, he feels like he's guarding something."

The warrior raised his weapon in salute and spoke his first words to them. His voice echoed in the chamber, driving his words into Angela's heart, chilling her to the core. "You are correct, young Jedi. I am a guardian, trained and immortalized by the Sith to protect this place of power."

"You guard some manner of Sith treasure," Ran reasoned, igniting his weapon and assuming a defensive posture. Angela brought her own weapon parallel to her body, a neutral stance optimal for switching from attack to defense in a heartbeat.

"No, Jedi Master," the warrior declared. "I guard a threat to the Sith…and to all the galaxy. The Sith found it, the Jedi tried to destroy it. But when the Sith attempted to harness its power, they found themselves wanting. It almost eradicated them. In fear, they trained me to guard it, keeping it from the hands of those who would use it. I am not Sith, Jedi, or anything else save this—I am a guardian."

The warrior spun his lightsaber expertly, raising it above his head in the most aggressive of fighting stances. "You have found this place," he said solemnly, "therefore, you must die." He charged right at them, chopping hard. Angela went onto the offensive, parrying the warrior's blow and moving in for a riposte. Ran added his blade to the deadly dance, and soon three glowing beams of energy played an orchestra of combat.

Angela tried to thrust at the warrior's hip when the ground lurched, foiling her attack routine. The circular chamber was breaking apart, with concentric ring-like sections of the floor floating up into the air. The warrior had leaped onto the topmost of these elevating rings, with Ran on one of the lower rings in hot pursuit. Angela let the Force flow through her, giving strength to her legs as she propelled herself a ring below her Master.

She saw Ran hop up to the warrior's level, watched them duel across the thin circle of floor. Yellow sparks flashed where their blades connected. Ran locked blades and pushed down, leaving him room to punch the warrior in the face, knocking his foe down three rings. Angela let out a silent cheer as she rushed to intercept the warrior.

But her foe had already regained his footing, countering her flurry of slashes with puissant skill. She grunted as a violent wave of the Force struck her in the belly, sending her flying into the far wall. Pain wracked her body as she fell twenty feet to the bottom of the chamber. There was a crack; a rib jiggled in her chest. Despite the agony ripping through her, she forced herself to watch the battle unfold above her.

Ran had come down to the warrior's level, striking fast and hard. He had his enemy on the defensive; the warrior's parries were frantic and always half a step behind the green-eyed Jedi's attack. Only through luck and the Force did the red-bladed lightsaber block the blue. Angela felt hope rise in her—Ran would win!

But then the warrior spun away and kicked him in the face.

Ran stumbled, stunned by the unexpected blow. Angela, wounded as she was, could only watch in rapt horror as the warrior slid his blazing lightsaber into her beloved's back, the blade hissing out the front of his chest. Ran Tonno-Skeve fell from the rings, crashing onto the chamber floor with a sickening crunch.

"No!" Angela screamed. "No, no, no!" Disbelief melted into sorrow. Sorrow boiled into anger. Anger burned into hate. Hate raged into fury. She gave the warrior—the slayer of her friend, her Master, her lover—the most baleful gaze she had ever given any living thing.

With a Force-assisted leap, she met her murderous foe on the rings, her green blade slashing with all the dark energy she could muster. But somehow her anger could not win her victory. The warrior turned aside each blow, foiled every attack routine, countered every furious flurry. With every rage-inspired blow she threw, he advanced a step.

Then the red blade sliced her lightsaber clean in two. Her anger dissipated, and fear settled into her heart. She was at the warrior's mercy—and she knew with grim certainty that he had none.

She dodged his next slash, but it put her off balance and she fell. Again she struck the ground and again she heard a rib break loose. Renewed pain surged through her, blinding her, deafening her, leaving her completely vulnerable to the fearsome warrior that was—even now—leaping from the rings to impale her battered body upon his weapon.

But defeat was an enemy that Angela Marshair never acknowledged. Her vision cleared for a moment, and it settled upon her slain Master's lightsaber. It lay by his cooling body. Above was the warrior. Near Ran was her only means of victory.

The Force wrapped around the weapon and it slid into her waiting hands. Its blue light turned aside the red blade and a return swipe tore the life from her foe. The warrior fell away, its Force-immortalized body rapidly decaying as time caught up with it. By the time Angela set down the lightsaber, her foe was nothing more than dust and rags.

But her defeated enemy was not her main concern. She pushed aside the pain stabbing into her body and crawled to Ran's side, nestling his head in her lap and holding onto her shoulders and chest for dear life. The lethal wound—a black hole of charred flesh—gaped at her, and she knew that no amount of Force healing would save him. Tears streamed down her eyes in a torrential flood and sobs wracked her shoulders.

"Don't cry," Ran murmured, wiping away her tears with his fingers. "I'll be sad if you cry."

"How can you make jokes at a time like this?" she mumbled through her sobs. "You're dying!"

"Am I now? Heh. Doesn't feel terribly painful. I just feel like going to sleep."

"I can't believe you're making fun of your own death! You're incorrigible."

"Yeah, but if I were all wise and 'oh, I'll be one with the Force,' I wouldn't be me."

Despite the grimness of seeing death take away the man dearest to her, Angela laughed. "There are some who'd cheat death, others would who'd hide from death. There are men who'd face it without fear and those who'd embrace it. Then there's the rare few who'd smile back at death when it smiles at them, or laugh at it." She hugged Ran tightly, letting her tears soak into his tunic. "But then there's you, who'd not only laugh at death, but make a joke about it and get it to laugh too." She smiled, though it trembled with barely-suppressed sobs. "Leave it to you to die laughing."

He coughed. "What can I say? I always thought things were better when you had a good laugh." His smile wavered and he coughed again. "I won't lie to you, Angie." He coughed. "I'm afraid. I don't want to die." Another cough. "I love you, Angela—you're my one and only."

"Master…Ran…" she gripped him harder than death. "Don't go. I need you here. Damn it, nothing's ever been able to hurt you or beat you. Why now?"

A bit of his old mischief wandered into his green eyes, which were as bright as ever even though his skin paled as oblivion worked its way into his bones. "Call it the will of the Force—the best trump card a Jedi Master can have. I feel real…sleepy." He closed his eyes, his breathing became very, very shallow. She barely heard his whisper, "How about a kiss for the hero?"

A small chuckle escaped her lips. "All right, scoundrel," she murmured. They kissed one final time, and when they parted, she watched silently as his body disappeared. His tunic and robes fell into her lap with a soft crumple. Then she mourned, and there seemed to be no end to the tears.


	4. Ambition's Gambit, Ch 4

**Chapter Four: Roads Ahead**

Angela forced the tears away, wiping them with her forearm. The tears had flowed for over an hour, but now was the time for resolve. Her Master…Ran…gave his life for something they did not yet understand. She would not let it end like this—she would see this mystery through. She took up Ran's clothes and threw them into a backpack. It was her duty as his apprentice to give him a funeral pyre later.

She deactivated the force fields and let the mercenaries into the chamber where the warrior had died. One look at the carnage and her tear-streaked face told the story plainly enough. It was well that this was so, for she lacked the strength of will to relive those horrifying last moments again.

Kanig said in low tones, "Ran was a strong person. I…I know I didn't know him long, but I think he was someone I could have grown to admire. Um. I'm sorry."

Ooroosh laid a hand on her shoulder. "You're the leader now," he said simply, reminding her of her duty. Duty was all she had left—without Ran she had no guiding force except her responsibilities.

"My love," she prayed quietly, "give me your strength." She turned to her mercenaries, looking them in the eye. "That warrior over there was a guardian. And a guardian has to guard something. Fan out and look for it."

They searched in silence. Then Kanig called out, "There's a control panel on this floor plating. It must be how these rings started floating." Sure enough, as the Zabrak fiddled with the plate, the rings returned to the main floor. A little more fiddling opened a section of the wall, leading into a glowing room beyond.

The team moved in, weapons at the ready. They entered a small cubical recess made of plated gold, with a pedestal made of three circular blocks in the center. Each block had a single oddly-shaped slot. "Some kind of keyhole," Ooroosh reasoned.

"The keyholes are out of alignment with this marking on the top," Kanig added. "I can't read it, but it looks like a black dot with four diamonds around it."

"My ancient languages is rusty," Angela said dryly. A thought struck her. Kanig had spoken, as had Ooroosh…. "Where are the Al'was?" She turned and saw that they were in the outside chamber, with one speaking into a comlink while the other was slapping something onto the edge of the door. Angela recognized it at once as a plastic explosive.

"Watch out!" she cried in warning, reaching out with the Force. The explosive ripped out of its placement and struck one of the Al'wa brothers, detonating loudly and violently. When the smoke cleared, only one of the Al'was remained. Angela was looming over him in a heartbeat.

She grabbed the comlink out of the terrified Bothan's hand, cycling through its recent conversations. "All right, time to play question and answer. And after the day I've had, you _don't_ want to toy with me, understand?" The glare she leveled on the Al'wa was so hard it may well have been a sledgehammer.

The Bothan revealed all. "Who do you work for?" Angela demanded.

"Admiral Adguard," he replied. That caught her by surprise, but it only allowed anger and resentment to rise like bile in her throat. She lost her Master for a set up.

"What's Adguard's plan?" She put in such vitriol into the question that it slammed the Bothan into subservience. Any resistance to interrogation would crumble like burned paper before her.

"He wants the _Fall of Empire_, just like Admiral LeFrein."

"And what is the _Fall of Empire_?"

"I don't know. I don't think the Admirals know either. But LeFrein found out about it from a treasure hunter three years ago and tried to find it without anyone noticing. That's why he kept up martial law, so that no one would see him. But Adguard saw and got curious—he wanted whatever LeFrein was looking for, because he's certain that he can use it to secure his ascendancy."

So her Master had died for a political game. Hot tears welled in her eyes. His death seemed so meaningless, just another victim in a politician's bid for power.

"I take it that Adguard was the one who sent the sniper and the assassins," Angela reasoned. The Bothan nodded. That made sense—the Jedi came of their own accord, to settle a possible secession from a fledgling galactic government. Destroying the Jedi meant that eliminating any interference. But Adguard made a mistake.

He made Angela angry.

"The comlink," she growled, rage seething through her words, "I suppose you tried to contact Adguard and tell him that you've killed us and that the _Fall of Empire_ is waiting for him. So when's his men going to get here?"

"About an hour," the Bothan whispered, balking from her growing emotions.

That was not a lot of time; it took almost two hours to get back to the surface. It would be a fight to escape. "Kanig, Ooroosh, tie this scumbag up and get ready to run. We're going to have company soon." She thought fast. Adguard's troops would probably try disabling the _Nebula Dancer_ and the other mercenary ships with some manner of electronic lock. If they were smart, there would be a tracking device as well, in the event that the lock was defeated. She could slice a lock easily enough—but finding a small tracking device would be difficult, especially considering the time constraints involved.

She, Kanig, and Ooroosh ran through the underground complex at full speed as she explained their predicament. They were surprised that their mission was all a set up, that they were pawns in a planetary game of chess and politics. "So now we're fleeing for our lives," Ooroosh summarized, "and we might not even have a ship to flee in. Sounds like my trip to Felltara Nine."

"How'd you get out of that?" Kanig asked.

"We stole one of our enemy's ship, of course."

"I'm afraid that won't be an option," Angela said stiffly. The _Nebula Dancer_ was Ran's pride and joy, the home he had never had. In turn, it was Angela's home as well and all of the good memories in her life were embedded in its metal walls. She would burn in hell before she left it behind, logistics and common sense be damned.

They were halfway through the tunnel system when they encountered the first patrol of Rakarisian soldiers. Laser fire spat out from the other end of the hall; Angela drew Ran's lightsaber and sent the blasts flying right back. Ooroosh was laying covering fire with his rifle while Kanig held back, one hand on his force pike and another hand taking aim with a small pistol. The patrol was small and easily defeated; the party pressed forth—right into the arms of a second patrol.

And so it went: A bloody rampage through the complex. Angela sincerely wondered if they were going to run into a trap on the way out. The patrols were merely inconveniences against her—and since Adguard was the one sending them, he knew that she was a Jedi. But she did not voice her fears to her comrades. If they were indeed running into a trap, she was resolved to get them all out of it.

They cut down the last patrol barring them from the exit. Sunlight poured through the cave entrance, but Angela's brows frowned as she saw the silhouettes—a score of them—standing out front. Each of them had blasters. Kanig cursed and Ooroosh sighed. Angela growled.

Admiral Adguard, resplendent in his uniform, strode past his minions. "I noticed that you intercepted my Bothan spies," he said simply. "Really, you're resourcefulness is astounding. It would be better if you just surrendered. Indeed, it would have been better if you simply hadn't gotten involved."

Angela remained silent.

"Where is your Master, Tonno-Skeve?"

"Dead," she said coldly. Because of your tricks, she thought nastily.

The Admiral sighed and shook his head. "I'm sorry. He was a great man, your Master. Admiral Arclite thought highly of him as a soldier. Many who fought in the war did." He sounded so sincere. Angela's hatred of the man wavered. Was he such an evil man? Was Ran's death truly just a sad misadventure?

"Miss Marshair," the Admiral said, "surrender. Leave the _Fall of Empire_ to me. Those assassins I sent were to scare you off, to get the Jedi out of the way. I never meant for anyone to get killed."

At those words, her uncertainty vanished. She leveled a hard gaze at him, like a vibrodagger. "You're a man who sent men to their deaths, Admiral. You know very well that common killers would never be able to beat two trained Jedi. There's an element in this play that you're not telling me, but I'm sure of one thing—I wouldn't trust you as far as I can throw you." She raised her lightsaber defiantly.

"You don't have to join me," she whispered over her shoulder to the two mercenaries. "If you surrender, he won't harm you, I'm sure of it."

The Aqualish gurgling laughingly. "One more adventure it is, then. It has been a while since I got involved in a mystery."

Kanig quietly gripped his force pike. "I don't understand what's going on, but it looks like you're in the right. As trite as it may be, I'm sticking by the right."

Admiral Adguard shook his head. "You've all made a very poor decision." His hand slashed through the air, and a score of blaster bolts scorched the sky.

But none of them landed.

The bolts turned in midair and cut into the Admiral's ranks. Soldiers fell, their flesh burning and smoking. "What's going on?" Adguard cried, looking around at the carnage. Angela herself was shocked—the Force surged through her as it never had before, filling her with the power to bend the universe to her every whim.

The Admiral was regrouping his minions and ordered a second assault. But again the red blaster bolts turned aside, hitting rock and dust with a wave of the girl's hand.

"Run for the ships!" she shouted at her comrades. She stretched out her hands, fingers spread wide, and then parted them. The Admiral's troops flew through the air, parted by the strength of her mind. They were like rag dolls in her hands, toys that were hers to with do with as she pleased. She reveled in her power—she would avenge Ran by crushing every one of these insignificant creatures!

But then she felt Ooroosh's hand on her shoulder. "Snap out of it!" he told her sharply, cutting through the euphoria of energy dancing within her. "We've got to go, now!" Angela nodded numbly, seeing clearly—for the first time, it seemed—the carnage she had wrought. Men lay still around her, others moaned and nursed broken limbs and bleeding wounds. She had done that with a wave of her hand. When a shudder ripped through her, she did not try to hide it.

It took only moments for Angela to disable the electronic locks on the _Dancer_. She would have liked to hunt down any tracking devices that the Admiral had put on board, but time was of the essence. She throttled the temperamental ship into orbit, all the while calculating the jump to lightspeed. Kanig and Ooroosh both sat in passenger seats on either side of her.

When the _Dancer_ was safely surrounded in the blue-white light of hyperspace, Angela breathed a sigh of relief. Exhaustion seeped into her bones. It only reminded her of just how much she had lost that day. She wanted to cry again.

"Sadness is a human emotion," Ooroosh said. "Jedi are taught to be above humanity. It is good that you remember that you are human."

"What the hell do you know about it?" she snapped.

"Because I've been there," the Aqualish replied easily. "You cry for a loved one. You cry for your friend. I have too. This is good."

"How is this possibly good?" Angela screamed at him. "I just lost the man I love!"

"You cry because you remember him. It means he was worth knowing."

The simple words drove her to silence. After a long moment, she apologized. "Ooroosh, I'm sorry. I lost my head there."

The Aqualish merely nodded his bulbous head. "It is understandable. Cry, Angela Marshair. It means that he was worth knowing."

She sighed and rubbed her head and then stood stiffly. "I'm in no mood to talk about this, Ooroosh. Kanig, take the controls. I'm getting a shower."

The hot spray of water loosened her muscles, washed away the burdens of the last few hours. Ran lay dead, the mission was a disaster, and Adguard was probably in pursuit. Things had gone from bad to worse and the seriousness of it all made her shoulders leaden and heavy. She just wanted to curl up in her bunk with Ran lying next to her.

But there was still a mystery to unravel: the _Fall of Empire_. Men had died for it, men are fighting for it—but none knew exactly what it was. Angela was certain that the pedestal she found was the final piece of the puzzle. But those keyholes in it suggested that she had a long search ahead of her before she could use that last piece.

She finished her shower, toweled off, and wrapped her homespun robes around her. While tying the strings of her robe, she saw Ran's clothes wrapped in a bundle at the bottom of her bag where she had left them. Tears threatened to pour down her face once again. "Sorry, Ran," she murmured, forcing her sobs away. "You won't be getting a funeral pyre until I'm done." She raised his blue tunic to her lips and kissed it gently. "I promise that I'll finish this—whatever it is."

Kanig and Ooroosh were waiting for her in the cockpit. "Um, Angela," the Zabrak said carefully, seemingly cautious of her fragile emotional state, "I was wondering if you had a destination in mind."

She sighed again. "Sorry if I seem out of it, Kanig. Don't tiptoe around me; I'll be…I'll be all right. I just needed to think some things through."

He nodded. "I'm sorry about Ran, Angela. It was obvious that you were real close."

"More than you can ever know." She slumped into the co-pilot's chair and let the Zabrak handle the flying. "Anyway, we have work to do. Remember the pedestal we found? It had three keyholes in it. I'm pretty sure that that pedestal is this _Fall of Empire_ thing everyone's looking for. Logically, those keyholes need keys to fill them."

She turned on the ship's computer and began a search through all the databases she could access. "There was that strange marking on the top of the pedestal. Let's see what a linguistics check can tell us. Hmm. It's a derivative of ancient Kinachi, a Core World dialect that died out before the Great Hyperspace War."

"What does it mean, though?" Kanig asked.

Angela read the readout. "Roughly translated, it means 'Sword of Light.' Sounds like a superweapon of some sort, but that doesn't help us find those keys."

"Perhaps not by itself," Ooroosh agreed, "but try searching for worlds that used that dialect." Angela typed in new parameters and waited for a new readout to appear.

"Well, that narrowed it down considerably," she whistled. "Nice thinking, Ooroosh. It was used on three worlds—Bespin, Corellia, and Hoth. A gas planet, an urban jungle, and an ice world. You could hide anything on worlds like those."

"This will take a while," Ooroosh noted. "I hope you're paying a thousand credits for this," he joked.

Angela closed down the computer and settled into her chair. "You'll get your money and more," she mumbled, sleep beginning to caress her weary body and wearier heart. "This isn't over yet."

End Book One 


	5. The Hammer Falls, Ch 1

_**A Knight Alone, Book Two: The Hammer Falls**_

_Timeline:_ 32 years after the Battle of Yavin

**Chapter One: A Most Useful Resource**

Admiral Toniss Adguard was a man born to lead. His father was a politician and had secured his son's enrollment into the Rakaris Naval Academy. Between the elder Adguard's political acumen and younger's own burning ambitions, Toniss Adguard soon found himself in one of the highest seats of power. He had not even turned thirty. He believed in what his father taught him: charisma, ambition, confidence—the tools of rule, the road to success.

Then came the Yuuzhan Vong. The presiding High Admiral, Thufir LeFrein, a generous and caring man who, to Adguard's eyes, seemed more suited to charity work than military matters, reluctantly instated martial law over his world. Adguard, as one of the senior leaders of the navy, was instantly elevated to one of the senior leaders of the entire planet. Things seemed on the rise, and he dared to reach the top.

But LeFrein had found something during the latter days of the war—it became his obsession to find it. It even affected his rule, for he maintained martial law even after the war ended. Adguard, always sniffing for opportunity, saw his chance: discredit LeFrein and take his position. But then Adguard learned what LeFrein knew about the _Fall of Empire_ and adjusted his stratagems accordingly.

Why settle for one world, Adguard mused, when you can have the galaxy?

But the Jedi had to intervene. LeFrein's gambit drew the attention of the Galactic Federation of Free Alliances, for Rakaris was a Core World and the maintenance of martial law held overtones of secession. And the Jedi could not have _that_ happen.

Damn Jedi, Adguard swore mentally, they _had_ to get involved! My plans may be ruined. At least the Jedi Master is dead.

A knock on his chamber door interrupted his thoughts. "Enter," he said in the stateliest of manners. Charisma, ambition, confidence—the markings of a true leader.

A Twi'lek majordomo opened the door with a datapad under his arm. "Admiral, sir," he said perfunctorily, bowing low. "Our orbital sensors have lost the _Nebula Dancer_. It will take us at least a day to trace its last hyperspace jump. Further, it seems that the _Dancer_'s crew found our tracking device and disposed of it."

"This complicates matters," the Admiral commented. The Jedi girl had escaped him right after defeating a score of his troops. Alone. "What information do we have on Jedi Master Tonno-Skeve's apprentice?" he asked suddenly.

The Twi'lek blinked at the unexpected question, but reflexively went to his datapad. "Angela Marshair is apparently the daughter of Antoniades and Andromeda Marshair, nobles of Trista Prime. They own a lucrative corporation that deals in technological research, cybernetics, and supercomputers. Their lineage traces back to Quintesaran roots, and they have a legitimate claim on the Quintesara throne, albeit a distant one."

"A Jedi princess," Adguard mused. "And very powerful, no less. With a wave of her hand, she blew my men away. Just a wave." He made a sweeping gesture with his own hand to demonstrate. "Our blasters could not touch her, majordomo. She turned them aside with a simple flick of her wrist."

"Admiral," the majordomo ventured, "what are your orders on this matter?"

Adguard turned away so that he could look out his window at the setting sun. "Send a patrol after them, preferably with an interdictor. The _Fortune of Demise_ will do nicely—a small ship, but armed enough to easily handle a light freighter like the _Nebula Dancer_. Have two squadrons of X-wings run as escort. I want Angela Marshair alive, but give the order to kill any who travel with her. That is all."

The majordomo bowed and left the Admiral to his sunset-watching. "Angela Marshair," he repeated, rolling the name over his tongue as if tasting some rare delicacy. "You know something about all this, I'd wager. I want to know what you know, Jedi princess. And I always get what I want."

* * *

They spent a week jumping erratically from planet to planet, bolting into hyperspace as soon as they could after each stop. The tactic was tried and true, for it threw off any pursuit and made it increasingly difficult to trace their ship. But the crew of the _Nebula Dancer_ had grown weary of running.

Their blind flight into the depths of space began when they saw the HoloNet news while buying supplies on Ryloth. "Angela Marshair, Kanig Kord, and Ooroosh Morosh have been identified as the murderers of Jedi Master Ran Tonno-Skeve," the broadcast had said. "Admiral Toniss Adguard, one of the military leaders attempting to diffuse the martial law policies on Rakaris, raised these allegations. He claims to have indisputable evidence of this disreputable deed, and has delivered said evidence to the Rakaris Judiciary Council…."

Angela Marshair had not taken the news well. Kanig and Ooroosh, her situational comrades-in-arms, retreated to the cabins when her tirade began. Tables, chairs, and Corellian curses were hurled through the small confines of the ship, crashes resounding off the walls. "That slimy, snake-eating reptile!" she screamed. "That egg-sucking piece of gutter trash! That rutting boar of a bastard!"

Ran Tonno-Skeve was her Master, her teacher, her friend—her lover. She watched him die at the hands of the guardian of the _Fall of Empire_. He gave his life to solve this mystery, but now his name was being used to discredit her, the woman he had loved. It was too much for her, and violence was the outlet she chose to weed off her darker emotions.

Now she had worked the torrent out of her system and was back to her usual self—more or less. Ran's death haunted her, and she felt responsible for it. If she had not been wounded at the time, she could have helped him…No, she thought, I won't go into self-pity. I have a job to do.

"Kanig," she said, her fingers dancing across the navicomputer, "how close are we to Bespin?"

The young Zabrak, sitting in the co-pilot's chair, answered, "From here it'll take a three-hour jump. One of our shortest ones yet."

"I'll lay in the coordinates. Hey, Ooroosh, how's the air up in the gunwell?"

The Aqualish's gurgling voice came through the intercom. "Smells like month-old laundry."

Angela laughed. "I always kept telling Ran to clean that up." She winced at the memories that flooded her. She _did_ tell him to clean, but he only smiled and found some way to avoid the chore. It usually involved sweeping her off her feet, locking his lips to hers, and playing her body like a fine-tuned instrument. But the pleasant memories were quickly replaced by those last violent moments. Angela fought back a sob. "Ahem. Keep sharp, Ooroosh. Adguard doesn't seem like the type to call it quits when he'd down. I'm guessing he's getting something planned for us."

"The inattentive adventurer is the one who stops adventuring," the Aqualish said sagely, "usually because he's dead."

The _Dancer_ exited hyperspace on schedule and entered Bespin's orange atmosphere. "It's a big world," Angela murmured, the impossibility of their quest just beginning to dawn on her.

"How in the Core Worlds are we going to find a _key_ on a _planet_?" Kanig moaned. "It's looking for a needle in a haystack."

"We will trust the Force to show us a way," the brown-haired girl said without much conviction. "Let's dock at Ambaro Station. It's an out-of-the way place, but it'll have access to some of the more comprehensive intelligence networks."

"How do you know so much about this world?" Kanig inquired.

"Ran and I came here about six months ago and then again only two months ago. Both times, we were hunting down runaway convicts. We used the archives on Ambaro to narrow our search of places they could use as hideouts. It helped us capture the criminals with relative ease."

"You and your Master went on many adventures together," the Zabrak noted.

Angela smiled roguishly. "More than I can count. Each time was more exciting than the last—except for the diplomatic missions. Those were boring. But Ran would always tell me that they were for my own good, even though he secretly hated them as well. Ah, we have a leading clearance."

The brown-haired girl expertly brought the _Dancer_ into its landing cycle and led her comrades into the docking bay proper. She perfunctorily paid the standard docking fees and made arrangements for hotel rooms in one of the cheaper establishments. "I have no idea how long we'll be here," she explained to her companions, "but there's enough credits to afford a month's stay at the least."

"We'll need more if we're going to be searching two other planets," Ooroosh remarked.

"A valid concern," she agreed, "but one that will remedy itself, I'm sure. One simply has to be resourceful to make money. Anyway, we should begin our search in the most obvious of places—the archives. But I'd like to check the 'unofficial' records as well."

The Aqualish bobbed his head. "I don't know the underworld climate of Bespin, but I can figure out who to ask easily enough. I've gotten more than enough jobs from seedy folk over the past few decades. I'll see what's cropped up."

"If you don't mind, I'd like to accompany you to the archives," Kanig said.

"Not a problem," Angela replied. "We'll meet at the hotel around eight. Does this sound good?" At the affirmative nods, she and Kanig left for the archives.

"Hasn't changed a bit," she muttered when they arrived at the Ambaro Chamber of Records and Antiquities. The dome-shaped building soared high into the orange sky, accented by mirrored panels that reflected the setting sun. Angela winced as the light slammed into her eyes. Some artists found the effect enlightening and conducive to learning. She found it a horrible pain.

She and Kanig easily found an empty pair of databases and began their task. Finding reference to an ancient key would be difficult—perhaps impossible—but if there was one lesson Ran was fond of teaching, it was to always look in the obvious places first. Perhaps, Angela mused, the key held some minor historical significance. Time passed them by hours, well past when the sun set and the moon rose.

"So tell me about yourself, Kanig," she said suddenly while stretching, wanting to relieve some of the boredom of their academic search. Angela was a girl of action—chasing after obscure references to relics was not her idea of amusement.

The Zabrak seemed momentarily surprised by her request. They had spent the past several hours discussing little more than their meager findings, and that only infrequently. Angela made a mental note about his jitteriness and shyness; she wondered what made those qualities so intrinsic to his character.

"Um, well, I was born on Iridonia itself," he began. "My parents were born on colonies outside the system, but they wanted to expose me to 'real Zabrak' culture by living on the homeworld. I had a good childhood, I guess, but I was really sheltered. See, I was the third child they had, but the first two—both sisters—were killed when they were toddlers. They got run over by a speeder. A drunk driver. My folks were real scared that I'd end up dead too."

"And you became a mercenary," Angela noted. "Hardly what they had in mind, I'd wager."

He nodded. "We had a lot of arguments about that. They wanted me to go into a quiet life, be a merchant like my father. Didn't appeal to me. I took some martial arts classes when I was younger and I liked fighting—at least as far as sparring went. I was good at it. I guess that scared them even more.

"My parents finally let me join the military when I was seventeen, but they insisted that I become an officer. I said yes, but secretly applied in the infantry. I lasted only a year there—didn't like the disciplinarian tactics they used. But I learned how to fight with a blaster and a pike, so I became a mercenary."

"There's talk that you killed a hotshot and got yourself a hefty reputation," the brown-haired girl prompted.

The Zabrak nodded tersely, seeming very uncomfortable about the subject. "It was an accident, really. Fender Morrow was drunk in a bar that I usually frequented. I didn't even know who he was at the time—I was fresh into the mercenary game. He picked a fight with me because of my age, and I fought back. Not to kill or anything, just to defend myself. He got angry and started to make things lethal. I ended up gutting him on my pike. Everyone thought I was this great fighter, when really I just lucked out because Morrow was so drunk off his rocker that he practically fell on my weapon."

The Zabrak looked so sheepish that Angela burst out laughing, startling the other patrons in the archive. She quickly suppressed her guffaws, resorting into to barely-contained chuckles that made her shoulders tremble. "I apologize," she said when she saw Kanig's hurt look at her mirth. "When you fought those gundark-things, I swore you were a master fighter and that the whole Morrow incident was true. To hear that it was a lucky break is a bit much for me."

A smile turned his lips. "I suppose it is kind of funny. But I really am that good. I had to learn to be that good pretty quickly, you see, because all sorts of mercenaries and bounty hunters and glory-hounds started chasing after my hide when they found out I 'killed' Fender Morrow. I had to beat all of them just to stay alive, so you can imagine how fast I had to develop my fighting skills."

"It seems to have paid off." Angela stood, stretching out her legs, which had almost gone asleep from being in a sitting position for so long. "I'm getting a little thirsty. Do you want anything?"

"A cup of caffa would be wonderful right now," he said, rubbing his eyes. She sympathized with his plight; she could barely keep her eyes open as it was.

"I thought I saw a vending machine back by the entrance. Be right back."

She had just put a pair of credit coins into the caffa machine and was waiting for the Styrofoam cups to fill when she saw a man and woman walk into the archives, hand in hand. They moved through the racks of datapads and holocrons with a mixture of awe and trepidation—but they radiated relaxation and calm. A loving couple out for a stroll, probably tourists looking at all the sights. Angela turned away from the sight, numbness settling into her heart. She missed Ran terribly.

She returned to the databases and Kanig with alacrity, crisply plopping one cup in front of the startled Zabrak. "Let's keep looking," she said tightly, distancing herself from her turbulent emotions by the energy-consuming task of her search. Data entries and translation profiles for all manner of languages and historical notes flashed by her screen, and she threw her whole soul into studying them. As long as she did not think about the man she lost, she could function like the Jedi she was supposed to be.

The sound of Kanig's voice startled her from her task. "Could you repeat that?" she asked.

"I said I found something substantial. I'll transfer it over to your screen." Angela saw the image of a cylindrical piece of stone, etched with a dot with four diamonds around it. The item looked very old, the edges of it crumbling away. But the general shape was unmistakable. It was one of the keys to the pedestal they found.

"What file is this?" she asked.

The Zabrak sent her another set of images: a majestic floating mansion in the Bespin sky, the key under a glass showcase, and another close-up of the key. "It's apparently the family heirloom of a human male named Kel Sunderson," Kanig said. "His family had the key for the past eight generations, though there is no record of how they acquired it."

Angela tapped her chin thoughtfully, recalling a distant memory. "I know that name—Sunderson. Oh! He was a noble in the Tal Braxis system, a small feudal region with only a minor presence in the Old Republic. They tolerated democracy only so far as it benefited them, I believe."

"His Bespin mansion must be a summer home or something," Kanig reasoned.

She nodded her agreement. "He won't give that key up, you know. But I think I know how we can get in and steal it." She picked up her comlink and sent a call. "Ooroosh, you there?"

"Aye, my friend," the Aqualish acknowledged.

"How goes your end of the search?"

"Well, apparently some stuffy nobleman has the key were looking for. Locked up tight and under heavy security."

"Kanig and I found out about that too. Name's Kel Sunderson. Anyway, I want you to find out if there's any social events coming up around the Sunderson estate. Specifically, I want to know if there's any way to get you and Kanig inside as servants. Also, I'd like to get my hands on an invitation to any party Sunderson might be holding."

"I'll see what I can do, Angela," the Aqualish said. "Over and out." The comlink clicked off.

Angela smiled. A plan was forming in her mind, and when it came to social events, any plan she made had her becoming the life of the party.


	6. The Hammer Falls, Ch 2

**Chapter Two: Wine, Woman, and Song**

"And this ravishing young woman is Angela Marshair," Kel Sunderson announced, parading the lovely teenager by the arm. Sunderson was a tall and broad-shouldered man with a classically handsome look—cropped blonde hair, blue eyes, the works. In his tailored silk suit, he dripped of wealth, affluence, and ambition, traits valuable to a nobleman from so esteemed a name.

Angela smiled pleasantly to the gathered nobles and merchant princes, affecting just enough of the image of an exuberant debutante to up her charisma. Acquiring the necessary items had been a matter of time—the invitations were easily forged with her name and she simply drew on her own background and family history to fabricate a reason for being on Bespin. Her gown for the evening was the dress that Ran had bought for her. Somehow, she managed to don it without crying.

But she put aside Ran and her Jedi training. Now it was time to play the role she had been born and raised into—that of a noblewoman. She curtsied gracefully to her host. "Lord Sunderson, I am truly honored to attend this grand party. With such auspicious attendees, I daresay I am a bit out of my league—though I would love to meet them."

Sunderson gave her a smile that was almost a leer. "Of course, my lady," he said to the neckline of her gown. He led her through the press of partygoers, introducing each and every one worth mentioning, from the CEO of the largest corporation on Tyrix Six to the only Wookiee merchant lord in the sector. Angela played up her charm, chatting amicably with all manner of people, subtly learning their motives and their ambitions. It merely took time and careful questioning, formulating her words into innocuous inquiries. Few could resist her kindly, youthful face or batting lashes.

Sunderson introduced her to one of his closer associates, an older man with a long curling beard that had long gone white. "And this is Count Recklia Pardu. He taught me all I know about wine tasting."

"You are too kind, Kel," the count said smilingly. He took Angela's white-gloved hand and gave it a courtier's kiss. "The Marshair family is known to me. You have connections to the Quintesara throne."

Angela nodded. "I am the fourth cousin, thrice removed, of the Esteemed Holy Queen Amara Quintesara."

"You have the Quintesara clan's eyes," the count noted. His brow furrowed in confusion, as if he recognized something. "By chance are you related to the Lady Andromeda Telandrin?"

The brown-haired girl blinked in surprise. "You know my mother?"

"Why yes. I funded the Alderaanian College for the Arts and Culture, where Lady Andromeda studied for two years. This was before the planet was sadly destroyed, of course."

"Of course."

"Yes, now that I look at you, you _do_ carry a lot of her. The grace, the hair, the eyes. Tell me, how is your dear mother? Does she still like Antaran grapes? She always did have such expensive tastes."

Angela stiffly answered, "My mother and I are not on speaking terms, Count Pardu. I have not seen her in over a year."

The old count shook his head emphatically. "I'm sorry to hear that. Lots of young ones are leaving their families to strike it out on their own, making their own money, or so they say. It is a sign of the times, isn't it Kel?"

The stately nobleman nodded crisply. "I came from such stock myself, my dear count, as you no doubt know."

"Indeed I do! But this lovely young lady is using up her time on a rundown old count like me. Do show her your private stock of brandy, my dear Kel. She's the daughter of a Telandrin—that clan's always been able to hold their liquor!" The count walked off to another part of the party, laughing all the way. It sounded like a cackle. From the familiar tone with which the count had delivered that last bit, Angela figured there was a double entendre behind his words.

But she had other things on her mind and let out a sigh. The count had come to the wrong conclusion about why she left her mother, but she would not disavow his theories. It was not a memory she wanted to think about. When Kel Sunderson offered to take her to the wine cellars, she nodded absently and allowed herself to be led by the arm into the dark, chilly chambers. There was no dust atop the shelves of bottles, nor upon the kegs of wine and beer. But the gloom held an eerie quality that made her hackles rise.

"No plaster or duracrete?" she asked, noting the hewn stone from which the cellars were made.

Sunderson gave her a lustful look. "Of course not. I like things…traditional. Ah," he took a bottle from a rack, turning it in his hands so that he could read the label, "a '64. A good year, so my father told me. Shall we break open a bottle?"

"It's a bit cold for a drink," she noted dryly, crossing her arms under her breasts meaningfully. She did not need the Force to know what was going on in Sunderson's head.

"I don't see why we shouldn't enjoy ourselves in private, my dear." He moved to trap her with his arms against a keg of Corellian ale.

She deftly slid away and waved a hand before his face. "I don't have time for your third-rate come-ons," she said stonily. "You're pretty bad at it, anyway. You're going back upstairs, with the bottle, and you'll leave me be." The Force wrapped around the nobleman's lusty mind, twisting his priorities around. He numbly left the cellars, the bottle in hand.

Angela shook her head, disgusted at Sunderson's antics, and went back upstairs a few minutes later.

Divorced from Sunderson's attention, she went about the party hall, intent on working over the guests on her own. She came across a group of businessmen discussing the virtues of various markets. One of the men she recognized from some obscure fiscal magazine her father subscribed to: Brejak Camden, a noted seller of digital security systems and related droids. More importantly, his security systems were used throughout Bespin's upper class.

"The Federation will be the way to go," Brejak was saying loftily, with all the authority of a veteran investor, which he was. "One merely has to see the advantages—the military, the private corporations, the various shipyards, even the Jedi. Yes, it will be the Federation that will determine market prices for the next generation."

"But it is weak yet," Angela said, cutting into the party. Everyone in the group turned to look at her, the newcomer. She pressed, "It would be wise to invest only a small percentage in the Federation—to get it running—but you should transfer your main funds to the stronger companies for now."

Brejak gave her a critical, studying eye. "And who might you be?" he asked with that same hauteur, seemingly unimpressed by her.

She curtsied. "I am Angela Marshair. You are Brejak Camden of Camden Electronics."

He bowed. "You have the advantage," he said cordially.

"Not so much. I only know you by reputation, for you are one of the finest business-minded individuals working the markets."

"You admit this, yet counter my opinion of the Federation's merits?"

"I do not deny that the Federation will ultimately win the markets. But you must surely see the wisdom in exploring other avenues for more immediate profit."

Brejak seemed intrigued. "What other places would you suggest?"

"The Corporate Sector Authority," she replied easily.

"Bah! Its market has not altered in the past two years. It's on the decline."

"Not decline, Brejak—but it is stable, for now. Even in the aftermath of the Yuuzhan Vong war, its stocks have remained unchanged. And they've opened some new trade routes in the past few months."

"I've not heard of this."

Angela smiled to herself. She and Ran had helped the Corporate Sector Authority with some smuggler problems a few months ago, which resulted in the opening of those trade routes. It was well-kept secret, for the Corporate Sector Authority wanted to use them as a trump card when the Federation finally got on its financial feet. "Trust me, they're there. They'll be using them soon, too."

"Hmm."

"I tell you, Brejak," she said with conviction and intelligence glimmering in her eyes, "the Corporate Sector Authority's market base will be on the rise. You should really consider investing in some of their trade routes."

"I understand what you are saying, Miss Marshair," Brejak said, sipping his brandy, "but I tell you—the Federation will soon be on its feet, and then where will the market turn? No, as immediately profitable as the CSA and other such options might be, the Federation will have the more lucrative routes in the long run. In such delicate times, it is wiser to invest slowly and with care."

"Then play both sides," she countered. "Strike up a five-year contract with the CSA, for surely five years will be enough time for the Federation to cement its power. And it should be early enough in the Federation's existence for you to stake claims on the more profitable routes."

He toasted his glass to her. "I like the idea, my dear. Perhaps a three-year contact instead of five? Just to be on the safe side, of course."

"It sounds reasonable, and it will give you enough time to build a little nest egg."

"You have a remarkable grasp of economics for your age," he commented.

Angela affected a flushed look of embarrassment. "My father owns a research company that deals in computers and electronics. My mother's family happens to handle trade and finance—their firms and corporations make billions in a year. The combination of science and economics proved beneficial for my family, and so they want me to learn their way of doing business."

"They did a fine job, if you're the product of their ambitions," he praised.

She nodded in gratitude. "You're too kind, Brejak." She raised her glass of wine to her lips and drank delicately. Then she changed the topic to one more relevant to her quest. "So how long have you known Kel Sunderson?"

"Since he was a boy," the merchant answered. "He was a crafty one, even then. I knew that he'd grow up to be a remarkable player of the game, and indeed he did. His parents helped fund some of his earlier investments and projects, but in the end, he's raked in about twelve times more than what he started with. And that's yearly. He's even outdone me, and I've been a top profiteer for years."

Angela grinned inwardly; the merchant had just given her the opening she needed. "Is that how he came by his collection of relics? I hear he has quite a number of impressive pieces."

"Oh, no. Most of that is made up of family heirlooms. He's quite proud of those, especially that strange stone rod. He claims that his ancestors took it from the tomb of some conqueror forgotten by time. I think it's all stuff and nonsense, but there you go."

"He takes good care of his collection, then?"

"Of course. He has millions of credits invested in it."

Angela peered into Brejak's eyes and let a tendril of the Force slip into his mind. The sensation she felt hinted that he knew more about the collection than he was letting on. It was time to expedite matters. With a wave of her fingers, she bent his will to hers. "Tell me, dear Brejak, what else do you know?"

His eyes glazed over. She had him. The merchant spoke automatically, unable to shake her compulsions. "Sunderson bought the security for his collection from my company. Aside from him, I alone hold the access codes to disable the alarms rigged on the glass casings."

"You will give me those codes. Send them via my comlink later tonight." She drove her command deep into his mind. "For now, you will act like this conversation never happened." Brejak nodded numbly, stood, and left her alone at the table. Angela finished the rest of her wine, ducked into a corner away from prying eyes, and turned on her comlink. "Ooroosh, Kanig, where are you right now?" she whispered.

"Kitchen," the Aqualish gurgled. "I'm amazed how much food these rich folks eat."

Angela bit back a smile, keeping her mind focused on the task at hand. "Do you have a feel for the terrain?"

"Pretty much," Ooroosh replied. "I know where the collection is located, if that's what you mean. Sunderson's apparently showing it off to some friends, and I had to cater."

"All right. I'll be able to get the codes to bypass his security in a few hours. You two get yourselves out of there. I'll meet you at the hotel in about an hour."

"Why the delay?" Kanig inquired.

"I want to get a bit more to drink, of course. I haven't tasted a bottle of '64 Corellian since I was sixteen." With that, she signed off.

* * *

Later that night, in the hotel, she received the transmission from Brejak. She had Kanig store the codes in a datapad. They returned to the Sunderson estate under cover of darkness, dressed in nondescript civilian clothes. Angela had hidden a lightsaber—Ran's lightsaber, for her own had been destroyed—under her sleeve, tied to her forearm by two leather thongs.

They crept over to the mansion's wire fence, where the maintenance access box hung from an iron pole. "All right, let's shut down a few lights," she whispered, opening the box and typing in the necessary codes. There was a dull hum as the fence's security systems shut down. There was a click further ahead—the main gate had unlocked. She typed in another set of codes, turning off the security cameras outside the mansion. The other pieces of security could not be accessed from the exterior of the building; they would have to infiltrate the mansion itself before they could do that.

Angela looked to Kanig, who held a pair of electrobinoculars to his eyes. "See anything?" she asked.

"Some guards are looking around. They're coming this way."

"Perfect. Ooroosh, get ready to jump them. And be quick—we have to slice their comlinks before their superiors figure out what's going on."

A few minutes and one short, bloodless scuffle later, they stood above a pile of unconscious bodies covered with bruises. Angela and Kanig made short work of the guards' communications equipment, reversing their voice modulators—which originally were supposed to reduce static. Now those same modulators altered any voice speaking into the comlink to sound like any person they wanted, namely the guards. Such modifications were tricky, but Angela and Kanig proved up to the task. Their anonymity secured, the party strode boldly toward the mansion. They made their way to the side, beneath a large glass window.

"That's where the collection is," Ooroosh said.

Angela nodded briefly. The window was almost ten meters up. "I can make that jump. Wait for me to drop a cable to you." With a Force-assisted leap, she grasped a window ledge. Her lightsaber ignited with a snap-hiss, painting the darkness with its blue glow. Now came the tricky part. Doubtless cutting open the sealed window would trip an alarm, but she hoped her strength in the Force was enough to dampen the sound.

She took in a calming breath and slashed the glass clean through. In that same instant, she reached out with the Force, using one of her favored techniques—illusion. Specifically, she created the aural illusion that there was no alarm blaring like a mynock in heat. She extended her illusion out to cover the entire mansion, sweat beading on her brow with the effort. Her strength in the Force was tremendous indeed, but even she had limits. She was now reaching them.

"Where's that damn security box?" she mumbled, trying to split her attention between maintaining her Force illusion and locating the box. She saw it hiding on the far wall and quickly typed in the necessary codes. The alarms and security traps in the collection room hummed as they powered down. With the alarms deactivated, she gladly released her illusion and pulled out a liquid cable dispenser from her belt. "Here," she whispered to her comrades outside, lowering a long rope.

The three regrouped and made short work of the glass casing around the key they sought. "It's really not much to look at, is it?" Kanig commented as they lifted the stone rod out of its pillowed bed. "Kind of heavy, though."

"It _is_ made out of stone, you know," Angela pointed out. "We better get out of here before we're missed." They moved to the window, ready to leave, when they heard the door creak open. "Sith spit," she swore, ducking behind one of the casings and motioning for her comrades to do the same.

Two security guards entered, glow rods sweeping light across the darkened room. "I swear I heard something up here," one of them said. "Check out that side."

Unfortunately, "that side" was near Angela's hiding place. As soon as the guard's light shone upon her, she sprang into action. Her lightsaber boiled forth, chopping through the first twenty centimeters of the glow rod, plunging that half of the room into darkness once more. "Everyone out, now!" she shouted, punching the guard in the face, knocking him into another display case.

She took her own words to heart and plunged headlong out of the window, tumbling and twisting in midair, and, with the assistance of the Force, landed softly on her feet. Ooroosh and Kanig both rappelled from the window, hanging onto the cable with loose, yet efficient, grips. The guards leaned over the window ledge and fired their blasters. Angela batted the shots harmlessly aside. Then she and her comrades rushed off into the night.

Little more than an hour later, they were flying out of Bespin's orbit with their engines on full power. Angela cursed profusely. "What's wrong?" Kanig asked, surprised at her outburst. "The mission was successful, was it not?"

The brown-haired girl grunted. "In the strictest sense, yes, but I was forced to draw my lightsaber. I've basically identified myself as a Jedi thief, which won't sit well at all with the Jedi Order, Bespin's government, or the Federation. What a mess."

"It's a concern that will have to wait," Ooroosh commented, pointing at the scanners. "Two marks coming in fast at seven forty-five—six Headhunters, unmarked. Seems Kel Sunderson has a little private fleet." Without waiting for orders, the Aqualish left the cockpit for the gunwell. Kanig quietly took the scanners and Angela wrapped her fingers around the controls.

"They're only seconds away from firing range," the Zabrak said, watching the scanners.

"Try and scramble our energy readings and registry numbers," the brown-haired girl said. "It would be stupid to let them track us that way."

The Zabrak tapped a few buttons on his console. "Done and done, Angela." Red blaster bolts splashed over the _Nebula Dancer_'s shields. Kanig sheepishly noted, "They've reached firing range."

The battle was on.

"Use ion weapons only, Ooroosh," Angela said. "I don't want to leave any bodies behind us."

"Copy that," came the reply. It was followed by the rapport of laser fire, blue streaks of ion bursts slashing the blackness of space. After the first exchange, he proudly announced, "Two down, four to go."

A series of ship-shaking explosions stole the momentary elation Angela felt at his words. "Better make those last four quick ones," she muttered, sending the _Dancer_ into a punishing barrel roll. She was nowhere near as skillful a pilot as Ran had been, but she was good enough to at least run some evasive maneuvers. Another explosion sent shudders through the ship. "Kanig, plot us some hyperspace coordinates and get us the hell out of here!" she said.

"Stop moving around like that!" Ooroosh complained. "Get me in line with them—I said in line with them!"

"Hold your starships, buddy," she returned hotly, reflexively spinning the ship into a hard port turn to avoid colliding with an oncoming Headhunter. "I'm trying to keep us alive here!"

"And I'm trying to keep them from killing us," he countered. "Get me in line!"

"Fine!" she said, pulling the ship into a loop and then twisting it back around so that it was tailing two more Headhunters. "Any time you're ready, Ooroosh." A barrage of ion bolts tore through their foes' shields, sending crackling blue lightning dancing over their hulls. They sat motionless in the starry abyss, completely disabled. For the moment, the field was clear. It would take time for the final two Headhunters to engage, but Angela noted that they were coming in fast.

"Coordinates set for Hoth," Kanig announced. "Punch it!"

Angela did not hesitate. Streaks of blue-white light stretched around them and they vanished into the void of hyperspace. They were safe, or so they thought.

Just as soon as they started breathing a collective sigh of relief, the ship shuddered and the blue-white tunnel of lightspeed fell apart around them. "An interdiction field," Kanig groaned. "Where did it come from?" They only had to look out the viewport. An Etti light cruiser loomed before them. It was one of the smaller capital-class ships, but the scanner readings indicated that it was heavily armed for one of its size. A bulbous interdiction globe hung from its ventral side.

"It's identified as the _Fortune of Demise_," Kanig said, looking at the readouts. His eyes widened. "That's one of the fleet ships under Admiral Adguard!"

"Out of the frying pan, as you humans would say," Ooroosh commented.

Suddenly, blips lit up the scanners in an erratic array. "Starfighters coming in—eight X-wings," Kanig reported. "By the Core Worlds, Adguard's really after our hides." Ooroosh was already firing, bolts of energy surging forth.

"Adguard, that damn monkey-lizard," Angela growled. Six Headhunters from a private citizen was one thing, eight disciplined military starfighters and a capital ship was entirely another. "We have to get out of here. Kanig, plot us another jump. Ooroosh, hold them off. I'm switching life support power to engines and transferring half power from weapons to shields." Her fingers danced across her console, and there was a resonant hum as energy flowed along new routes. "Angling deflector screens double-rear. Here we go."

The _Dancer_ burst ahead with renewed speed, turning tightly to skirt by the oncoming X-wings. They looped back and established hot pursuit. Angela was not worried about them. Ooroosh held them at bay with the ion cannons and the _Dancer_ had some of the finest illegal shield generators that money could buy; they were notoriously fast at regenerating. Even eight X-wings would not be able to bring them down easily.

But the _Fortune of Demise_ could. Huge bolts of energy sped toward the _Dancer_, and while Angela was able to dodge most of the shots, the slightest graze sent rumbles throughout the transport ship. The ship could not withstand attacks of that magnitude, so she flew in close to the cruiser, right under its main cannons. Big weapons like that would tear the _Dancer_ like a hot knife through butter. But flying this close meant that the only lasers she would have to worry about were the point-defense blasters—which were about as strong as a starfighter's. Those weapons splashed laser fire into the _Dancer_'s shields, but did little more than send a few trembles through the hull.

"Lady, I understand what you're doing," Kanig said with surprising calm as he wrapped his hands around the armrests of his chair in a deathlike grip, "but you'll forgive me for thinking you are the craziest female in the sector."

Despite the grim situation, Angela laughed. "Trust me, compared to what my Master used to do, this is sane." The _Dancer_'s nose tipped up and the ship was soon in a hard climb, running only a handful of meters from the surface of the cruiser. She sighted the interdiction globe and made a beeline for it, maintaining her closeness to the _Fortune of Demise_.

"You're not thinking what I think your thinking," the Zabrak moaned.

A mischievous grin that would have done her Master proud split her lips. "I'm one of those Jedi who go by instinct, Kanig. No thinking involved. Ooroosh! I'm routing power to weapons. Switch to blasters and take out that globe." The only acknowledgement she received was the bright light of laser fire splattering against the _Fortune_'s shields. But the Aqualish's assault did not relent, and by the time the _Dancer_ flew past, the globe's shields had failed and numerous power cables and support beams had been obliterated.

"That should kill that interdiction field," Angela remarked. "Do we have a course?"

The Zabrak, still unnerved by her stunt, shakily replied, "Hoth jump is set."

She clapped him on the shoulder. "Don't worry, I don't do stuff like this too often." With that, she pulled a lever and settled back as the stars stretched behind her.


	7. The Hammer Falls, Ch 3

**Chapter Three: Ice Castle**

Admiral Adguard pounded one hand on his desk, throwing a datacard report to the ground with the other. "How could they have escaped us?" he roared. It was rare for the Admiral to loose his composure, but to have his schemes thwarted by a slip of a girl was beyond infuriating.

The Admiral's majordomo stood against the tirade, listening calmly. He was one of the few beings to have experienced the Admiral's hot temper before. "Sir, if I may?"

Adguard took in a deep breath and released it slowly. His temper cooled. "Speak."

The majordomo nodded gratefully. "Angela Marshair is clearly a capable and intelligent young woman. Devising a successful escape plan on the spot hints at her limitless potential. Against such an opponent, it would be advisable to have her assassinated, rather than shot out of the sky."

"A scalpel rather than a hatchet," the Admiral reasoned. "Majordomo, you're insight has served me well. Prepare a request to any bounty hunters on Rakaris. They are to bring Angela Marshair to me. Alive, if possible."

"And what of those who travel with her?"

The Admiral shrugged, uncaring. "Kill them. They are of no consequence. The Jedi princess is all that matters."

The majordomo nodded once and stood silently for a moment, pondering. Then, he spoke again. "Admiral, there is also word of Admiral LeFrein. Intelligence says that he's on the move, possibly to intercept Jedi Marshair. What are your orders, sir?"

Adguard blinked in surprise. "He went after her _personally_?"

"By all indications, sir, yes."

The Admiral rubbed his chin thoughtfully, a cruel smile spreading across his lips. "That is a most dangerous thing for him to do, and stupid. It would be a shame if he were to, say, get caught up in a crossfire."

The majordomo nodded and saluted him. "I shall inform the bounty hunters of your command, sir."

"No, majordomo. Don't tell the bounty hunters that. Alert the _Fortune of Demise_ that it has a chance to redeem itself. Inform them that I will personally oversee this."

"I understand, Admiral. It shall be done."

* * *

The white windswept plains of Hoth stretched out below the three adventurers, the ice and snow of the morning blizzard cutting right through their cloaks and coats. They made their way along frosty mountain trails, the snow piling around them, the wind howling in their ears. Already they had faced the dangers of Hoth's frigid climes and its equally deadly denizens; no less than four Wampas lay dead along the path they had trod.

"Kind of reminds me of home," Kanig said through chattering teeth. The snow was up to his knees, and he threw his arms wide to the left and right as he moved, trying to build up the torque to push his legs through the powder.

"Is it this cold on your world?" Angela asked, following right behind him.

"No," the Zabrak replied, "but where I'm from, it's just as barren. By the Core Worlds, I can barely feel my legs!"

"Lad, I hear your pain," Ooroosh gurgled. Frost rimmed his tusks and whiskers. He absently cleared snow from the barrel of his blaster. "How far are we from that energy reading?"

Angela looked down at her portable sensor, wiping snow and ice off its monitor. "About another three kilometers." She pointed to the east. "We'll have to leave the path here and climb. The readings are coming from that cave on top of that ledge."

Ooroosh looked up and bubbled out a groan. "That's an almost vertical climb, girl."

"That's why we have these," she replied, checking the straps of her backpack, which was filled with climbing equipment and cold-weather survival tools. Her companions wore similar gear. She strode off the path, plowing through the snow and ice, relying on her Jedi training to push aside the numbing sensation in her legs. She wondered absently if she would end up with frostbite.

They climbed. As soon as they made some headway, a fragment of ice would tear off from the mountainside and send them plummeting back several meters. Occasionally, they would rest for water breaks and to give their aching arms a chance to recover. It took almost five hours to reach the cave.

Angela led the way, a glowrod gleaming as she held it aloft. The light played against crystal formations that she recognized as derivatives of Adgean and diamond. Her mother had worn rings and necklaces with such stones in them. "If I mined this place," she mused aloud, her voice echoing eerily in the dark cave, "I could retire a rich woman."

Ooroosh drew forth his own glowrod and secured it to the barrel of his blaster. Angela gave him a questioning look. The Aqualish shrugged. "I've been in enough of these caves to want to be armed," he explained. "Remember our last expedition in a place like this."

She winced at the memory of Ran's death. The shiver that coursed through her limbs was not from the cold. She unclipped Ran's lightsaber from her belt and held it tightly in her other hand.

"Hey!" Kanig called out from the side of the cave he had been exploring. "Take a look at this." He showed them a humanoid corpse, nothing more than a frost-rimmed skeleton in ragged clothes decayed by time. A small durasteel crate was next to the body. "There's an old Rebel Alliance marking on the crate," he announced, brushing away ice crystals and dust. The Zabrak's eyes were wide with wonder. "This must date back to the early days of the war."

"And could possibly tell us more about this cave," Angela added. She eyed the crate expertly and recognized its make and function. "That thing's a high-end scanning device. It was top-of-the-line back during the Rebellion. My…my Master showed me one when we staged a revolution against an alliance of tyrannical despots along the Mid Rim worlds." She cleared her throat when she choked on Ran's name.

To push aside the dark memories, she busied herself with finding the release catches on the crate. "If I remember correctly, there should be some kind of depression around the top edge…ah, here it is." The lid hissed as compressed air was expelled. It popped open with a quiet creak. "These units were used to scan some real delicate areas, and the Rebels didn't want to risk losing such precious information to their enemies," she explained. "So, of course, they put some safety measures in it."

Inside the crate was a large scanner, blocky and bulky, trademarks of Rebellion-era technology. She pulled a few levers and pressed a series of colored switches. The device hummed to life after decades of being under the cold. "Now let's see what this old bucket has in its memory core," she murmured. "Kanig, give me a datapad. I'm going to plug in and download whatever's in there."

Half an hour later, the massive memory core was completely transferred to a datapad. The party spent the next while pouring over what they had found. The cave was originally connected to a much larger complex of underground waterways that had dried up long, long ago, leaving only empty tunnels. The heavy mineral deposits in the cave extended throughout the tunnel system. A number of ancient corpses found in those tunnels indicated that miners had tried to take advantage of the wealth buried in the mountain at one point in time.

"But looks like the tunnels connecting to this cave collapsed," Kanig noted, reading the datapad. "And looks like they collapsed only within the last century or so. Acoustic readings say that there probably isn't that much rock between this cave and the open sections of the tunnels."

"Which means that I can cut through them," Angela reasoned. She scrolled through the datapad and pointed at energy readings taken over the course of three months. "Look here. That Rebel soldier found the same energy signatures we picked up. Almost like its some kind of defensive grid—blaster turrets or something. Ah, wait, here's something else. Seems those signatures have all the markings of a force field. We didn't see that on our scanners."

"That's probably because the _Dancer_'s scanner array isn't as sophisticated as this," Ooroosh said. "But a force field in this mountain? Sounds a lot like that strange underground complex back on that planet near Dagobah."

Angela nodded. She had come to the same conclusion. "Which means that they key is probably guarded. But we don't exactly have a choice. Kanig, where's the weakest point in this cave? Preferably a point with very little rock to cut through."

Kanig gave her a location and she went to it. Ran's lightsaber filled the cave with blue light and she went right to work, slicing great blocks of stone from the ground and lifting them away with her mind. The hour passed in sweaty fashion. By the time she had finished her task, she was both mentally and physically exhausted. But there was a hole in the ground that stretched ten meters below into a tunnel.

Kanig handed her a condensing canteen, from which she greedily fortified herself. "Thanks," she said.

"Not a problem." He helped her to her feet. "Ooroosh is getting the liquid cable dispensers and fixing us a way down. You all right?"

She nodded. "Just a little tired. It's passing already, so don't worry about me."

They ascended down the cables into the tunnel system. Angela tried to shake off the growing feeling of dread that clawed at her soul. The setting was just so similar to the complex that she and Ran had ventured into back on Rakaris—a complex that ultimately led to his violent end. She could not help but wonder if another of her friends would end up the same.

And then she felt it: the darkness of a guardian, the same darkness that had claimed her Master. "I know where we need to go," she said absently, her senses focused on that black violence swirling deeper within the tunnels. The darkness filled her mind, consumed her attention. All she could think about was confronting and overcoming it. Ran would have wanted her to do that.

Like a sleepwalker, she strode through the maze of tunnels, her companions pulled along behind her. They asked her questions, tried to talk to her, but she did not hear them or answered them. All she could hear was the soft voice of the guardian. She navigated the confusing labyrinth without thought or contemplation; she just _knew_ where to go. The Force surrounded her, inky and sludge-like, a morass that stuck to her flesh like sewage. She was caught in it, but she did not fight it. Instead, she let its murky current take her along.

And then she stood before the familiar shimmering force field. And it parted for her. And she stepped through. Her friends remained behind it, shouting her name, calling for her, wanting her to wake from whatever spell had ensnared her. But she did not hear them. She heard the guardian: Breathing, soft and controlled. The whisper of silk against silk. The hiss of a readied lightsaber.

And she saw. A woman stood before her, lithe and elegant, her face shrouded in a black silk mask. Her clothes were of the softest silk, tied by a fine sash around her slim waist. In supple, black-gloved fingers she held aloft her red-blazing weapon. Angela strode up to her, doffed her coat and cloak, her own green blade humming. No words were exchanged, no circling or testing of defenses. Here, in this circular chamber that looked so much like Ran's place of death, the energies of impending violence heated the cold Hoth air.

It was someone like her that took Ran from me, Angela thought. Ran, give me the strength to overcome. I will confront this woman with the discipline of a Jedi.

They met in battle. Their weapons buzzed and crackled and thrummed as they slid past each other. Angela lashed out with a side kick, snapped that same leg out in a roundhouse. The guardian blocked both with a rotation of her forearm and countered with a thrust of her lightsaber. Angela turned aside and let the deadly beam of energy slice by her tunic.

They danced like lovers, so well they seemed to complement each other. It was at the same time mesmerizing and horrible, but the brown-haired girl did not appreciate it in the slightest. All she could feel was the tempo of combat, the sweat upon her own brow, the heat rising beneath her clothes as she pushed herself to exhaustion. Her guard slipped once, twice, thrice, and each time her foe's wicked blade scorched her flesh.

But she did not cry out or bat an eyelash, for washed in the rush of adrenaline and battle, she was immune to the sensation of pain. She solidified her defenses, lashed out aggressively, switched from offense to defense and back again with erratic unpredictability. But her gambits were foiled every time by her opponent, who seemed to know her every move before she did.

Then she felt the red blade slide into her thigh and a cry of agony broke through her lips, shattered her Jedi serenity, and dissolved her discipline. She fell to one knee, panting heavily, exhaustion lowering her head. Perspiration dripped from her brown locks and splashed upon the stone floor. The red blade rested upon her shoulder, forcing her to yield. She looked up into the guardian's eyes, the only part of her figure that was not hidden under black silk. They held no life in them, only the command of duty. They demanded her to admit her defeat.

"Not in all the worlds' hells," Angela growled, swinging her lightsaber back and parrying the red blade away. She stood shakily, putting her weight on her good leg. "I won't give up! Ran died for whatever you're guarding, and I am not going to let him down."

The guardian looked at her silently, lightsaber lowered but still burning.

"I won't be beaten," Angela said sternly.

The guardian's lifeless eyes took on a saddened gleam. Sad for her.

"What are you about?" the brown-haired girl demanded. "Are you pitying me? Why?" Her questions grew hot and angry. "You and yours took Ran from me! A Jedi never attacks, they say. So raise your blade and attack me, bitch—give me an excuse to kill you!"

But the guardian did nothing of the sort. She simply stood there, those sad eyes boring into her. Angela's rage grew. Who was this woman who would look upon her so? "I don't want your pity!" she shouted, but the guardian took the tirade without blinking. "Why do you look at me like that? Why don't you speak? Answer me, damn it!"

When the guardian again said nothing, Angela lost her temper. The brown-haired girl charged, screaming wildly. The blue blade cut through the black silk with such cruel ease. There was no resistance against the burning beam. The guardian fell without a sound or a murmur. The only sounds in the circular chamber were the hum of a blue-bladed lightsaber and Angela's quiet tears.

Somehow the chamber grew darker, as if some great hand had blotted out the sun.

Angela emerged from the chamber and rejoined her friends beyond the force field. Her face was as pale as the snow on the plains and her hands trembled with a chill that came from within her rather than from the air. "I found this on the guardian," she stated stiffly through blue lips. She gave Ooroosh a stone rod, identical to what they had stolen from Kel Sunderson's collection. "We're leaving." Her tone brooked no argument.

* * *

They made their back down the mountainside and back onto the plains where they had landed their ship. But they were not alone. Another transport sat beside theirs and a Rodian stood amidst the snow with four others of his kind.

"It seems we're expected," Ooroosh noted offhandedly. "That's Qomon Klay, one of the tougher bounty hunters around the Rakaris system." He turned his bulbous eyes to her. "You have a price on your head, girl."

Angela looked right at the Rodian, her eyes burning with determination. "I won't let scum like him stand between me and finishing this quest," she promised with such chill that she made the snowstorm feel warm.

As they approached, the bounty hunter announced, "I am Qomon Klay. I think myself a generous man and will allow you the chance to surrender peacefully. If not, I'll have to kill you." He gestured to his confederates, who raised blasters.

"You're dealing with a Jedi," Angela said icily. "I'll give _you_ the chance to surrender peacefully." Her lightsaber painted the snow with a sickly blue light. "Get lost or face the consequences."

To their credit, the bounty hunters did not bat an eyelash against her calm authority. Lesser beings would have quaked in their boots from the mere sight of a Jedi. These men, Angela knew from their cool professionalism, were veterans. But they would be dead veterans soon enough.

The battle was fierce and Kanig had taken a severe blaster burn to his right arm at the start of the fight. With her wounded leg, Angela seemed to move at half speed, but she was still faster than the Rodians. Between her blade, Kanig's pike, and Ooroosh's blaster, the bounty hunters swiftly met their end. Five corpses littered the field.

Angela pointed to Kanig. "Search their ship," she ordered. "Take any gear or rations they might have and look for any information about who sent them. Ooroosh, help him. I'll get the _Dancer_ ready to fly." Preparations took less than ten minutes and by that time, her companions had returned to the ship, their arms laden with procured goods.

"Find anything?" she asked as she heated the engines.

Kanig had looted a datacard from one of the bounty hunters. He slipped it into the computer. Documents scrolled across the screen. "Admiral Adguard," he said simply.

"He wants to quietly assassinate me," she reasoned. But then she saw one document in particular. "Wait, no, that's not right. It says here that he wants me alive. But why?" Then the answer hit her. "Of course. He wants to know whatever it is I know about the _Fall of Empire_."

"Which, ironically, you know nothing about," the Zabrak noted.

"That isn't entirely true anymore, Kanig. We know how to turn the thing on, whatever it is. These keys are the heart and soul of it, I'm positive of that. If Adguard catches us, and gets the keys, we'll have a mess on our hands."

"We'll have a mess no matter what we do," the Zabrak said, plotting in hyperspace coordinates. "I have the feeling that whatever the _Fall of Empire_ is, its going to leave a big mark. Calculations set for Corellia. At least the last stop is someplace warm."

It was meant as a joke, but Angela did not laugh.


	8. The Hammer Falls, Ch 4

**Chapter Four: Aboard the _Ardent Soldier_**

Angela sat in the silent cargo hold of the _Nebula Dancer_, letting her mind's eye fall within her. But no matter how hard she concentrated, no matter how she tried, she could not purge herself of the memory of her anger. It burned so brightly in her soul, that rage. She killed someone with that darkness. It was not a becoming for a Jedi to embrace such black sins, but she could not help it. It was a release from the sorrow in her heart.

It had been wrong to continue the mission so soon, she realized. She needed time to mourn, to reclaim her center. But she denied herself that time when she vowed to finish what Ran died starting. She had faced the guardian without having had time to release her feelings for Ran, without having had time to heal. In her weakness, raw emotion had worked its way into her heart, gripped her tightly, and forced her hand. And she could only blame herself.

Tears ran down her cheeks and she sniffled. Hugging her legs to her chin, she rocked back and forth, mumbling Ran's name. She had failed the Jedi Code, had killed in anger—all because she did not take the time to divorce her broken heart from her quest. Now she knew why the guardian had looked so sad. Angela was destroying herself. "I'm sorry," she murmured into the empty cargo hold.

Suddenly, the ship lurched sickeningly. Startled and alarmed, Angela wiped her eyes dry, got back onto her feet, and rushed to the cockpit. "What's going on?" she demanded.

Kanig, at the controls, reported, "We just got ripped out of hyperspace—interdictor."

In the co-pilot's seat, Ooroosh added, "It's a Rakarisian military ship. It reads as the _Ardent Soldier_, the flagship of Admiral LeFrein."

"You're kidding."

The Aqualish looked at her with his bulbous eyes. "I don't kid around when we're being pulled out of lightspeed."

The communications channel opened, and a gruff and officious voice demanded, "_Nebula Dancer_, power down your shields and weapons and prepare to be boarded."

Angela clicked the response button and said, "Who are you to be making demands of us? We're a private vessel in transit to Corellia. We've caused you no trouble and, incidentally, you're outside your jurisdiction, _Ardent Soldier_." She prayed that Admiral LeFrein did not know who they were. Maybe her bluff would work. And pigs can fly, she thought depreciatingly.

"_Dancer_, we mean you know harm. We know you are looking for the _Fall of Empire_. Rather, we want to trade notes on the subject."

"We don't really have a choice in the matter," she said. "I'll bet I could run circles around your ship, interdictor and all, but if you know that we're looking for the _Fall of Empire_, then you probably already know my tricks."

"That is indeed the case, Jedi Marshair."

Angela was not terribly surprised that they knew who she was. "Very well, _Soldier_. We'll come peaceably. But make any move against us, and I swear you'll regret it."

"That sounded like a threat, Jedi Marshair. I warn you, make any move against _us_, and _you'll_ regret it." With that, the channel shut off.

Angela sighed and looked to Kanig. "Get ready to dock," she said.

Once on board the _Ardent Soldier_, Angela was swiftly separated from her companions. She protested, but did not make any sudden or violent moves. She had the feeling that all would be revealed in time and, further, she sensed no hostility toward her or her friends. She prayed that they would be safe.

The guards assigned to watch her led her to a conference room. Strangely enough, they allowed her to keep her lightsaber. Perhaps they trusted her more than she trusted them. Or it could be just a ploy to trick her into lowering her guard.

The conference room had a well-stocked bar in the corner and she decided to fix herself a drink. The crystal wineglass had just touched her lips when the doors slid open and an elderly uniformed man entered. By the medals and ribbons and epaulets, she assumed that he was Admiral LeFrein.

"Jedi Angela Marshair," he greeted tersely. Not very friendly, Angela noted. She noted, also, the lines of worry on his face: exhaustion, concern, trepidation. This was not the face of a tyrant. This was the face of a man fighting for something he believed in, of a man who was fighting…and was losing.

"Admiral LeFrein," she greeted in return, her tone respectful and deferent. Her study of his face revealed much about his character. "If I may say, you look tired."

He chuckled softly. "Yes, I suppose I do. You must be wondering why I maintained martial law for all this time." He walked up beside her to pour himself a glass of bourbon from a faceted crystal snifter.

"The thought had crossed my mind," the brown-haired girl replied easily, sipping her drink. "But it seems it's not self-serving. You don't have the look of a despot, and even if you were, I'd have felt it in the Force."

"So I've heard about your Jedi powers. Believe me, you have every man on this ship up in hackles. They're scared of you because you can just start sifting through their minds whenever you want." He downed his glass in one go and poured himself another.

"I had not realized that we Jedi were still held in such disrepute." She sighed, starting to feel exhausted herself. "We…that is, my Master and I…we spent a lot of time trying to help people. We hoped that the Jedi Order's image would improve as a result."

"Do not look so glum, my dear," the Admiral said reassuringly, in a grandfatherly tone. Angela found herself relaxing under his soothing voice. "Many think highly of the Jedi. You saved us all during the war—few would deny that now. I sure don't. It's just that you, personally, have quite the reputation."

She looked up at him. "What do you mean, Admiral?"

"Stories have circulated about how you've turned aside blaster bolts with a wave of your hand and blew away a hundred men with another wave."

"That's preposterous," she said crisply. But then she quietly amended, "It was only twenty men."

The elderly Admiral smiled at her knowingly, as if she were a little girl who had just admitted to stealing from the cookie jar. "Well, stories tend to be exaggerated, especially around gifted individuals. And that, my dear, you most certainly are. You found the _Fall of Empire_, secured two of its keys, and foiled Admiral Adguard twice—once outside of Dagobah and once on Hoth."

"You seem to know a lot about my activities already," she noted sourly. "And here I thought I had been discreet."

"Oh, you most certainly were," the Admiral admitted. "If my intelligence network had not intercepted some of Adguard's transmissions to the bounty hunters about an 'upstart Jedi princess,' I'd never have known your name. Your exploits on the world outside of Dagobah were ascertained easily enough, though—I have many spies keeping tabs on things, including the _Fall of Empire_. They figured out where it was about half a day after Adguard did."

"But that doesn't explain how you found out about the keys I stole," she pointed out.

"We figured out where the keys were about a day or so after you started looking for them. We went to Bespin first and found Sunderson's collection looted. Of course, you came first to mind, since you already knew about the keys. We came to Hoth soon after. We just got here, actually. I assume you found the Hoth key."

Suddenly, Angela laughed aloud. "So you're saying that we got caught because of happenstance. Pure bad luck, huh?" Her smile was genuine, no longer haunted by sarcasm, bitterness, or exhaustion.

The Admiral shared her smile, and gave a warm one of his own. "So it seems. A toast to bad luck, my dear?" He raised his glass and touched hers.

"To bad luck—may it run out soon," she said.

"But to the original topic of conversation," the Admiral said. "I didn't lift the martial law policies because I needed time to find the _Fall of Empire_. I couldn't be bothered with handling the task of reorganizing the democratic parties. The search took up all my time and resources. So, I kept martial law in effect."

"That wasn't a wise move. You got the Jedi involved." A hint of bitterness entered her voice. "My Master was killed because of this mess."

The elderly Admiral nodded, looking even more tired. "I know. I'm very sorry. Many have lost their lives because of my decisions. It…it is a great burden to be a leader, Angela Marshair. If you know nothing else about me, know this—great burdens like that were what made my hair white."

Her brief sternness softened immediately. His words were sincere. Quietly, she asked, "Will you tell me what the _Fall of Empire_ is? Will you tell me what my Master died for?"

Admiral LeFrein nodded. "To put it simply, it's a superweapon. But it isn't a weapon in the sense of the Death Star or the Sun Crusher. It's a massive computer system that can subjugate all electronics within a given radius. All data-transferring devices—computers, security systems, droids, even comlinks—are vulnerable to its power."

Angela's eyes widened at the possibilities. "Can it break through encryption codes?"

"With ease. It is a supercomputer beyond all other supercomputers. It can slice, decrypt, and encrypt with the skill of a billion technicians."

"So it could get the codes for planetary shields, capital cruisers, planetary weapons emplacements, bank accounts," she breathed. "By the Core Worlds, you could control a world with something like that."

"More than that," the Admiral said. "You could control a galaxy."

She looked right at him, her eyes boring into his, the Force swirling around her. But she did not sense any selfishness in him. His heart was pure. There was no evil in him. "You do not want the _Fall of Empire_ for yourself," she stated flatly.

"No," replied the Admiral. "I want to destroy it."

Angela nodded once. "I'll help you."

A great weight seemed to slide off his thin old shoulders. A wan smile appeared on his weathered face. "Thank you, Jedi Marshair. Thank you." Then he looked at her kindly. "You seem a bit young to be drinking, my dear."

She shrugged. "I was always a little precocious. I can hold my wine with the best of them."

"Ah, youth."

"Tell me about Admiral Adguard," she said. "He wants the _Fall of Empire_, too."

LeFrein set down his glass and sighed. "The quintessential advocate of the democratic parties. But in truth, he's an ambitious, opportunistic snake. Initially, he was going to use the martial law issue to depose me and earn himself a place of power amongst the reinstated democrats. But when he intercepted one of my coded messages to some explorers I hired to find the _Fall of Empire_…well, once he learned of its nature, he wanted it for himself."

"To take over the galaxy," she reasoned. "Unoriginal, but logical. If you can put the galaxy in your hand, why wouldn't you?" She suddenly felt bitter hatred for the man. It had been his idea, after all, to send Ran into the complex when the _Fall of Empire_ lay hidden—the place where her Master died.

"I've been trying for weeks to foil his plans," the Admiral said, "but he's a quick one. He turned everyone against me. All of my political allies think I'm a tyrant. I don't care about that, actually. I know I'm doing the right thing in going after this superweapon. But because of Adguard's trickery, I'm left without any resources with which to fight him. This ship is the only thing I have left."

"No, Admiral," Angela corrected. "Now you have the Force on your side."

An explosion interrupted their conversation. The ship bucked wildly. "Not again," Angela grumbled.

"Better pray that Force is with us right now," LeFrein noted. "Come, join me on the bridge."

They entered the bridge to find it swamped in chaos. "Status report," the Admiral demanded, his full authority shining through the worry that had taken up residence on his face.

"Sir," said an ensign. "The _Fortune of Demise_ has just dropped out of hyperspace and has opened fire on us. They destroyed the shield generator. We are retaliating."

"The _Fortune of Demise_?" Angela repeated with a grim frown. "Adguard sent that ship to capture me."

"He couldn't possibly know you're here with me, though," LeFrein said. "He must have found out about me coming for you. Doubtless this is an attack to kill me. Ensign! Send an order to the squadrons—attack the _Fortune of Demise_!" Eight starfighters spilled out into the blackness of space, only to be met by eight snub fighters from the _Fortune_'s bays. The dogfight lit up the darkness.

"They won't last long, sir," commented one of the officers.

"Jedi Marshair," LeFrein said to her, "Take your friends and go to your ship. Leave this battle and find the last key. Stop Adguard and destroy the _Fall of Empire_."

"Admiral?" A sinking feeling filled her stomach. She knew where this was going.

"This ship is outgunned by the _Fortune of Demise_. We won't last long, but perhaps we can buy you time to escape. Every man on this ship may be distrustful of your powers, but they know what they're fighting for. They don't want to see a galaxy subjugated by a man like Adguard. Go now, and know that every soul here is putting his hopes on you."

She looked around the bridge and saw that every soldier there was giving her a salute. Many of them were uncertain, wary. But every one was sincere. They were indeed laying their hopes on her.

She lowered her eyes and nodded. Then she left the bridge without a word.

The _Nebula Dancer_ flew out of the hangar just as the _Ardent Soldier_ began to fall apart. An engine exploded, followed by the death of a thousand lights along the upper decks. The interdictor globe collapsed in a fiery burst. But even as aft and stern split away from each other, the gunnery turrets defiantly tore through the hull plating of the _Fortune of Demise_.

But the outcome was inevitable. The _Ardent Soldier_ stopped firing as death claimed it.

"Get us out of here, Kanig," Angela ordered, strapping herself into the pilot's seat.

"We can't make a jump to Corellia with those bastards on our engine trails!" the Zabrak argued.

"Then don't jump to Corellia," the brown-haired girl retorted. "Jump anywhere! Just get us out of here!"

The Zabrak pulled the hyperdrive lever, but nothing happened. "Tractor beam," he cursed. "We're caught."

Angela dropped her head into her hands. "Damn it," she murmured. "I'm sorry, Admiral."

The _Dancer_ floated into the hangar bay of the _Fortune of Demise_, like a morsel of food entering a greedy mouth. When the bay doors sealed shut, the teeth of that horrid mouth clamped shut. They were swallowed whole. "I'm sorry, Admiral," she whispered again.


	9. The Hammer Falls, Ch 5

**Chapter Five: Aboard the _Fortune of Demise_**

When the soldiers boarded the _Nebula Dancer_, they came prepared. They fired stun bolts at them until they could not twitch a finger, and then they slapped a neural disrupter on Angela's neck to prevent her from calling upon the Force. Then they hauled them off, placing her in a separate cell from her companions. It was a dark mirror to the events on the _Ardent Soldier_, and the parallels did not go unnoticed by the beaten Jedi.

She waited in her cell for hours. Iron manacles attached by lengths of chain to the back wall bound her wrists and limited her movement. Stripped of all but her base undergarments, she felt vulnerable and alone. The guards were too fearful of her and her reputation to summon the up the desire to rape or abuse her, muttering about the "Jedi witch's curse," but that was little comfort—she was still helpless, unable to call upon the Force for aid. Being trapped in a chill detention cell for hours took its toll on her patience and she worried about the welfare of Kanig and Ooroosh.

Then the waiting was over. Admiral Adguard entered alone, fearless and imposing. "And so the elusive Jedi princess is finally in my clutches," he said simply.

"You can't possibly think you can hold me, Adguard," Angela said defiantly, though she knew in her heart that her words were a hollow bluff.

The Admiral knew it too. He smiled evilly. "Of course I can, dear girl. You see, I hold all of the cards. A neural disrupter to keep you pacified, your ship impounded to prevent your escape, and your friends in my custody to keep you from making any sudden moves."

"What have you done with them?" she demanded.

"Nothing yet," he replied smoothly. "You'll find my tactics incredibly cliche, but they are undoubtedly effective. I hold them hostage to ensure your good behavior. You can imagine what will happen if you insist on being a naughty child." He drew a line across his neck with a finger. She paled. "I see you grasp the reality of your situation. You don't have a prayer of defeating me, Jedi girl. As the _Ardent Soldier_ died in a puff of flame, so do your hopes of escape."

Angela struggled against her bonds, but they were unrelenting. "I never give up, Adguard! I'm going to break out of here, and when I do, you'll regret everything you've done!"

"And so we conform to yet more cliches," the Admiral noted dryly. "Very well, I will play the role of villain to please you. You, my dear girl, are in no position to make threats. Soon, very soon, the galaxy will be mine. After all, I now have the two keys formerly in your possession. Now, you're going to tell me where the last one is."

"Ha! You must be joking. I won't tell you anything, not even under torture."

"We'll see, won't we?" A pair of guards entered, carrying several crates full of mechanical devices. Razors, heating panels, energy conductors—she could only imagine the level of pain that could be inflicted on soft human flesh by such tools. A massive droid hovered in, and the guards proceeded to arm it with the various implements. And then it advanced on her.

To her credit, it took almost two days of constant torture before she screamed. Little moans and grunts had escaped her, of course, but she had not capitulated to the agony until much, much later. Sweat and blood soaked her undergarments, stung her many wounds, matted her hair. But she had not spoken the name of the last key's resting place.

And so the Admiral ordered the session to continue. Another day passed before the Admiral tired of waiting and ordered the sessions to stop. "It would not do to kill her," he said gruffly. "Let her recover a bit. Then continue again."

A fourth, then a fifth, day passed in quiet rest. On the sixth and seventh days, the tortures were intensified. She had never imagined such pain could exist. It was blinding in its power. By the end of the seventh day, she was beyond physical sensation. Her entire body was numb, her ears deafened by her own agonized howls, her vision blurred from the constant ache that left her disoriented. She had not been given food for the entire week and only marginal portions of water. Thus, she approached her breaking point.

Left amidst her own blood and filth, exhausted beyond all exhaustion, Angela seriously considered surrender. "I can't do this," she mumbled brokenly to herself during the night. "I'm not strong enough." And then the Admiral entered. "Come to gloat some more?" she growled, spitting blood at him.

"Charming," he said tersely, wiping the stain from his uniform. "I've come to inform you that I've had your friends executed. If you had been a good girl and told us what we wanted, they would still be alive." Then he left.

A hollow pit of despair formed inside her, and she howled and howled and howled.

Two more friends, dead because of her. First Ran, now Kanig and Ooroosh. She had not known the two aliens long, nor did she know them as well as she knew her Master, but she had considered them friends—at the very least comrades in arms. But now they were dead—because of her. They did not even have a real reason to join up with her, and she got them killed.

"I couldn't help Ran when he needed me," she moaned, "and I couldn't help them when they needed me, too! What kind of Jedi am I? I'm supposed to save and protect people, but I can't even protect the people around me!" She shouted, she roared, she thrashed against her chains, the manacles cutting deeply into her wrists and drawing blood. "What use am I?"

She fell to her knees, ignoring the pain that shot up her bound arms. "Forgive me," she groaned. "Forgive me, all of you. I failed you all. I'm a failure of a Jedi. My weaknesses got you all killed. I'm so, _so_ sorry!" Tears fell from her eyes unbidden and her shoulders were wracked with sobs.

She cried herself to sleep and she hung there, by her chains, throughout the night.

A noise roused her from her slumber. Her arms ached. But then she felt warm, strong hands massage her strained biceps, easing some of the tension. Ran had caressed her that way when they lay together. When she looked around, she saw no one. But she thought she heard the whisper of robes.

And then she saw it—a metal cylinder lying by the door. A lightsaber. Ran's lightsaber.

She did not question. She did not ask how or why. She just focused on it. The neural disrupter on her neck turned her mind to jelly, made it difficult to reach the Force. But strain she did, pushing her mind and body to the limit in ways torture never could. Cries and moans escaped her lips, pain shattered her composure, but still she reached, reached, _reached_!

Ran's lightsaber flew above her, its blue blade shimmering and illuminating the cell. There were sparks as it cut through the chains. She ripped the neural disrupter from her neck, crying out as the pronged needles that had been stuck in her spine were unceremoniously pulled free.

Again, she looked around. But there was no lightsaber. Indeed, the chains did not show signs of a lightsaber's cut. The links had shattered, as if weakened. Somehow, in some delirious state, she had telekinetically undermined the integrity of the chains and broke them apart. But the fact that she had seen Ran's lightsaber made her think that she was not yet alone.

"Thank you," she mumbled into the silence. She thought she heard a roguish chuckle answer her, and she smiled. "You always were a bastard. I will avenge you. And I'll avenge Kanig and Ooroosh, too. But I won't do it out of anger. I swear I won't. I don't know if it was you or just some hallucination I had from being tortured, but I've learned my lesson. I won't succumb and I won't give up. That's a promise."

It would be hard living up to that promise, she knew. The deaths of her friends were too fresh, too real, too much in her mind and heart. But a Jedi did not live an easy life.

For now, she had to concentrate on stopping Adguard. Walking up to the locked door, she reached out with the Force and felt the presence of two guards outside. "You will enter," she whispered, sending tendrils of manipulation out of her cell and into their minds. The door unlocked and opened. Her fists shot out with lightning speed, breaking in each guard's windpipe. They fell to the floor, choking.

She quickly fished through their pockets for their keycards, a plan already formulating in her mind. The plan would only work if she were fast, though. There was no time to think about revenge or anything else except escape. Her bare feet slapped on the cold durasteel flooring as she ran through the halls, sweeping her mind's gaze through the Force. She read the thoughts of dozens of soldiers, some in the bunks, others above or below a deck from her. Through them, she learned where the _Nebula Dancer_ was located and that it was under heavy guard with an electronic lock on its controls.

She came to the hangar and swiped a keycard through the security lock. The doors slid open, catching over a dozen guards by surprise. They gawked at her, a bloodied, half-naked girl. But she ignored their stares and focused on her goal: the _Nebula Dancer_, locked to the hangar floor by magnetic couplings.

Her mind stretched out and touched those couplings, forcing them away. She fought against the pull of magnetic energy, but she succeeded. The couplings fell away and hit the deck with a thunderous clang. The guards regained their senses and opened fire. An alarm sounded, accompanied by flashing red lights. The element of surprise was spent.

Angela did not fear the blaster bolts heading her way. As she did on Rakaris, she swept them aside with a gesture, though it took more effort than she suspected. She doubted she could do it again. So she raised her hands and sent out a great burst of telekinetic power at the guards, bowling them over with a thought. They were not dead, but she knew that her move had broken more than a few bones and dealt quite a few concussions.

The path cleared, she ran up the landing ramp and into the _Dancer_'s cockpit, where she found the electronic lock. Again she swiped the keycard through. The lock deactivated and fell to the floor. She buckled herself into the pilot's chair and set the ship into its take-off cycles. That was when she heard the rapport of more blaster fire. The reinforcements had arrived.

"Damn it," she cursed. "Ten minutes. Got to hold them off for ten minutes. Damn it, Ran, why'd you have to get a ship that takes forever to warm up?" She set the ship on autopilot, instructing it to randomly jump into hyperspace as so as it cleared the hangar. Then she climbed up into one of the gunwells and heated up the quad lasers. She turned the cannons toward the hangar doors, where no less than fifteen soldiers were gathering and laying down suppressive fire.

She returned fire, blasting out the controls on the doors, which slid closed in response. It was only a temporary measure, she knew, but it would buy enough time for the _Dancer_ to finish its take-off cycle. By the time the soldiers forced the doors open, the _Nebula Dancer_ had already jumped off into hyperspace.

She settled into the gunner's chair and sighed. Escape—she had, against all odds, escaped. But at what cost? Her friends were dead and she was alone. Again the tears came, but she wiped them away with a blood-caked arm. "I will not succumb," she vowed again. "I will succeed and I won't give up."

Her gaze looked out into the blue-white of hyperspace, but all she could see was Adguard's face. Hatred and anger burned in her, as did the desire to kill the man with her own bare hands. One by one, she in turn burned away those feelings. A Jedi had to be distanced from those emotions. She was going to do so forcefully. "I'll be coming back for you," she promised to that vision of Adguard she saw in her mind. "And when I do, you'll pay. But for now, you can have your reprieve. I'll be back, believe it. Then I'll do what LeFrein wanted me to do and what Kanig and Ooroosh died to do—stop you."

Only the hum of hyperspace answered her.

End Book Two 


	10. The Soul of a Knight, Ch 1

_**A Knight Alone, Book Three: The Soul of a Knight**_

_Timeline:_ 32 years after the Battle of Yavin

**Chapter One: Gambler**

Angela Marshair spent a month in hiding, haphazardly jumping from each outlying station to fringe planet. But no matter where she went, she found someone hunting her. Bounty hunters, Admiral Adguard's mercenaries, Rakarisian soldiers. She found no respite from the violence and bloodshed. She left scores of dead in her wake. And she grew no closer to her goal than when she had escaped from the _Fortune of Demise_.

The month passed, leaving her bitter, hollow, and alone. She sat in the cockpit of the _Nebula Dancer_, munching on the last ration bar in the ship. She would have to raid a storehouse or loot the ship of the next bounty hunter that crossed her to keep herself fed. The cycle of bloodshed would have to continue, it seemed, and it left an acid taste in her mouth.

Her hair had grown longer, wilder. Gone was her regal elegance, her highborn stateliness. In its place was the haggard, bedraggled hardness of a hunted woman. Her Jedi robes had been confiscated during her imprisonment on the _Fortune of Destiny_, and she now wore the tan-brown boots, trousers, and jacket of a freighter pilot, found in one of the storage crates in the _Dancer_'s cargo hold.

It was an unflattering wardrobe, bulky and one size too large. She had cinched the straps down as far as they would go and she still looked small inside the jacket. At least with a utility belt on, her trousers had stopped falling down her hips.

But she had long since forgotten about her appearance. Survival was all that dominated her mind—survival, and the success of her mission: find the last key of the _Fall of Empire_. Over the past month, she had worried that Admiral Adguard would locate it before she could, but her concern was unfounded. If Adguard was still after her, then he did not yet know where the key was.

But that advantage brought her little comfort. She had nowhere to turn to, no allies to call on. Adguard was a thorough man. He had disabled many of the _Dancer_'s systems, including its communications array and shield generators. He had made her into a wanted fugitive throughout the Mid, Inner, and Outer Rim territories—wanted for stealing a family heirloom from Kel Sunderson, wanted for the murders of Ran Tonno-Skeve and Admiral Thufir LeFrein, wanted for her terrorist activities. Admiral Adguard had sown his lies, twisted the truth. She could not call on the Jedi Order or the Federation. He had left her completely, utterly, totally alone.

"I have to get to Corellia, soon," she murmured around the ration bar. "I can't keep running like this forever. The odds are against me. But I guess that's what's ironic about going to Corellia," she said to herself. "Why respect the odds when you have to beat them?"

She spent the next hour busying herself with her equipment. It was not much; she sold most of the spare gear on board for food. All she had left were the clothes on her back and a utility belt she had scraped together: a blaster, a liquid cable dispenser, and a glow rod.

She did not even have a comlink, for she had dismantled it and the other remaining electronics to forge a new lightsaber. The "crystal" for her weapon was only a chip of the _Dancer_'s power core, a poor substitute for a real focusing crystal but one that served her well enough. Its blue-white blade reminded her of Ran's, a memory that gave her comfort.

"I'm done running," she said with growing conviction. "Adguard's gaining too much ground. As it is, I'm on my own without a single friend. But that's okay." She smiled into the emptiness around her. "You're still looking after me, right? Right. I'll be all right." She calculated the jump to Corellia. It was time to get the last key. "Keep looking after me, all right?"

* * *

Admiral Adguard stood on the bridge of the _Fortune of Demise_, his frustration barely contained. Over a month of hunting, and the Jedi princess had managed to elude them at every turn. Over forty bounty hunters and mercenaries lay dead because of her. Twenty more were soldiers he had sent against her. He had cut her off from civilization itself, and yet she continued to fight back against him.

"How is she doing it?" he often raged in the privacy of his quarters. But on the bridge, he strove to keep himself collected, though that had grown increasingly more difficult as the weeks stretched out.

One of the officers walked up to him, holding a datapad. "This had better be good news, lieutenant," he said gruffly. "I am in no mood for another death toll. I'm more than aware of Jedi Marshair's prowess."

"It is not a death toll, sir," the lieutenant said stiffly. "It's a report from one of our scout ships. The Jedi has made a hyperspace jump to Corellia."

"That's odd," Adguard noted. "She usually jumps as far away from planets as she can. She's wanted in fifteen systems by now. Why go to a Core World?" Then the answer struck him and a greedy smile stretched across his face. "The key to the _Fall of Empire_! Of course! She'd only come out of hiding for it. It must be there. Helm, take us on a course to Corellia. Maximum engines."

He felt it, the golden taste of victory. It was within his grasp. All he had to do was follow her, capture her. Yes, he would let her find it for him, and then he would take it from her as he did the other two keys. She was outnumbered. She was outgunned. She was a fugitive. Where could she possibly turn to, once he made his move to trap her?

The smile grew wider. "I have you now," he murmured.

* * *

Acquiring permission to land required a great deal of work. The engine signatures and registry numbers had to be altered extensively. But Angela was skilled enough at such illicit tricks to pull them off with little trouble. She docked under the alias Anissa Dakar, owner of the _Ruby Falcon_. Of course, since the _Nebula Dancer_ was navy blue in color, the name was a definite misnomer.

She walked through the gray streets under a gray sky raining gray water. The rain soaked through her jacket and chilled her to the bone, so she was immensely glad when she ducked into a nearby bar. It was seedy, it was dirty, but it was warm and dry.

"Aye, what'll you be having, lass?" asked the short Sullustan bartender.

"What do you have that's hot?" she asked.

"Warm whiskey, a redberry hot, and a cup of caffa."

"How strong is the whiskey?"

"Burn your lips right off your face, it will."

Angela cringed. "I think I'll go with the caffa."

"Suit yourself." He poured her order into a porcelain mug and slid it over to her on a saucer. She toasted to the bartender's health and sip gingerly. It was far too bitter—the Sullustan did not know how to brew a decent cup. But at least it was hot.

"So what brings you to this dive, lass?" the bartender pressed. "You look like a wet cat, you do. And a respectable one, except that you're walking around here."

"My business is my own," she replied crisply, "but I guess you can say that I'm looking for something. I figured an establishment such as this," she gestured broadly, "would expedite my search."

"Establishments such as this tend to have that reputation," the bartender agreed with a bobbing nod of his wide head. "What you looking for, anyway?"

"I'm afraid I can't say."

"That would make looking very hard."

She smirked. "Indeed. Actually, I'm looking for people who might know what I'm looking for. I'm sure an establishment such as this can arrange a meeting for me with people like that."

The Sullustan was intrigued, for he leaned in close and whispered, "That was depend on who you're looking for and who you might be." His fat hands were spread wide atop the bar.

She took the hint and slipped him a thick wad of bills. "I'm someone who pays well." That was something of a lie. That wad was the last bit of hard cash she had left. But if things went well, she would not have to worry about money. "Now, do you know anyone I should talk to?"

The bartender was silent. He simply pointed behind her to a roguish Corellian partaking of a bottle of brandy in a shadowy corner. Angela moved to him, but the Sullustan quickly grabbed her wrist. "His name's Bard," he said in warning tones. She had never heard of any underworld man by that name, but she thought it was an unoriginal moniker. The Sullustan must have seen her disinterest, for he elaborated, "He's an information broker, one of the best, but don't drop your guard. He's called Bard because he gives them to people."

Angela nodded and walked up to the rogue's table. She sat in a chair opposite him without asking for an invitation. He looked up and narrowed his eyes at her. They were a brilliant green and their intensity reminded her—painfully—of Ran's.

She did not say anything at first. She just studied his face: dusky skin, hard angles, a head of short raven hair, a strong, square chin. He was handsome, she supposed, but in a purely rakish way. A livid Bard went down from his left cheekbone to his jaw, cutting through a thin shadow of black beard. He was about ten years older than she was.

"May I help you, miss?" he asked politely, but with a sharp glint to his eye that revealed his alertness. He was watching her, expecting some sort of trick or ploy.

She raised her hands and placed them on the table, keeping her fingers spread wide, showing that she was not a threat. "Perhaps you can. You're Bard, an information gatherer of some repute. I'd like to buy some information."

He seemed disinterested and sipped his drink. "You've heard right and have the advantage—after all, I don't know _your_ name."

"I'll give you my name for some information."

Bard chuckled around the glass he had raised to his lips. "Clever, girl, very clever. But I don't work that way. I like to know who I'm dealing with before I sign my name on any transactions."

She waved a hand in front of his face. "You don't need to know my name." Suddenly, his hand shot out and grasped her wrist. His grip was like iron, strong and unrelenting. A gasp escaped her lips; she was not expecting this!

A crooked, knowing smile split his dark face. "You're a Jedi," he said matter-of-factly. "I didn't think they had any pretty ones. Thought they were all robe-wearing monks or something. And since you're around these parts, apparently going incognito, I can only imagine that you're the infamous Angela Marshair."

Angela struggled against his grip, but she was held fast. Her heart quickened in panic, but she strove to maintain an air of self-control and calm. "That is my name," she said stiffly. Perhaps she could hit him with a telekinetic burst? Pry his fingers open with her mind? No—either option would lead to a confrontation. At the moment, the last thing she needed was a bar fight.

His grip on her hand shifted, turning from a lock around her wrist to a delicate, almost courtly, touch. He held her fingers lightly and kissed the back of her hand. "A pleasure to meet you," he said coolly. "It is not often that I get to bask in the presence of a highborn lady—and the fourth cousin of the Queen of Quintesara, no less."

"You know much about me," she said, taking her hand away and rubbing her wrist. His grip was incredibly strong.

"You're one of the most wanted women in the fringe," he stated offhandedly. His green gaze shifted from alert wariness to rakish leer. His eyes traveled from the top of her rain-soaked hair to her slender neck to her small breasts. "And I can see why."

Angela sighed and rubbed her forehead. "Another one of you hormone-driven fools," she groaned. To her surprise, Bard laughed.

"I'm not so crude, Miss Marshair," he said, tipping his glass to his lips again. "I just like to look and occasionally touch, but I know when I'm not wanted or when it wouldn't be smart. Take yourself, for example. I can already tell that you're a proud and capable woman, one who'd rather pick her night's paramour rather than be picked as one. Add to that the fact that you're a Jedi, and that little equation means that I'd be walking a knife's edge if I made a pass at you."

She found herself smiling and allowed a chuckle to escape her belly. "Your assessment of me is more accurate that you can imagine, Bard. You're a crafty one, too—you've led me down a digression, away from the topic of information." She leaned over the table to look him right in those brilliant green eyes. "And you're doing it on purpose."

He leaned back, hands raised. "You've caught me."

"Of course I have. My last boyfriend was a lot like you. If you're any more like him, then you're little word games aren't going to work on me. Now, about the topic of information."

"Yes, about the topic of information."

"I'm looking for a stone rod that looks like this." She drew a folded picture from a breast pocket on her coat and handed it to him. It was an image of the Hoth key. "I'm willing to pay any price to get my hands on it."

Bard studied the picture carefully, as if burning it into his memory. Without looking at her, he said, "I can help you with this, but it'll be probably more than you can pay."

"How much are we talking about?"

"About half a million credits."

Angela balked inside, but managed to keep it from showing on her face. She simply frowned. "I don't have that much." And, she thought to herself, I've never seen that much since I left home.

The rogue simply nodded, already expecting that answer. He slipped the picture into an inside vest pocket. "I didn't think you did. But I do take barter."

"Such as?"

"Well, a night in my bed would definitely be worth half a million," he said with that rakish grin.

Angela shook her head and sighed again, though a small smile turned up her lips. "My last boyfriend would say the exact same thing, actually. And he wouldn't mean it, either. He'd just say it to raise my hackles. Here's my counteroffer. I have an antique ship that I'm willing to part with." She felt a pang in her heart. The _Nebula Dancer_ meant everything to Ran, when he was alive. It meant everything to her, too. But she and Ran both believed in duty—and if giving away the _Dancer_ fulfilled her duty, then so be it. That did not make it any easier to cope with, though.

"It's at least two thousand years old, with a plethora of special modifications. Right now, some of its systems are disabled and I don't have the mechanical know-how to fix them. But I'm sure it's worth more than half a million."

Bard looked intrigued, for he scratched at the stubble on his chin. "I'll have to take a look at it."

"Tell you what, if you take me to where that stone key is, I'll even throw in a Jedi's lightsaber," she said. "You can't ask for more than that: a fast ship and a trophy item."

"You got yourself a deal, Miss Marshair."

On impulse, she said, "Call me Angela."

* * *

"Now fly down between those buildings," Bard said. "That's good. We should be coming up on the Lucky Drake soon. Ah, there it is. Go ahead and settle down over in the Dragon's Nest landing pad area. We can take a shuttle bus over to the Drake from there."

Bard had explained to her that the stone key was in the possession of a noted Corellian crime lord named Druckuss Cain, a former smuggler and pirate, now a casino owner. The casino was, unsurprisingly, a front for a much more sinister business venture: slavery. The Core Worlds banned slavery as a rule, but anyone who had half a brain knew that there were ways around the bans.

Angela was reluctant to deal with scum like him. She had but one fate for men like Cain: imprisonment and punishment for his crimes. When Ran lived, she and her Master would storm or infiltrate syndicates run by men like Cain and bring them down. As such, her name and face were well known in the underworld. The fact that she was a wanted woman only increased her chances of being identified. Thus, she settled on a disguise: she dyed her hair red-gold, painted her skin dark brown, and rubbed irritants on her face to make it break out in hives. She looked nothing like Angela Marshair.

"Now remember," Bard said as they rode the shuttle back to the Lucky Drake hotel and casino, "Cain's a downright piece of Core slime, but a refined one. With your highborn background, you should fit right in. He likes to stay up in his private suites, way up at the top of the hotel. He never leaves there these days. Nowadays he just runs the organization by holoimager and go-betweens. It's safer that way, apparently."

"So how are we supposed to get at the key?" Angela asked.

"We have to earn his confidence or impress him," the rogue replied. "We have two main options to accomplish that. One, we do a couple jobs for him and do them well. Or two, we rack up enough winnings in the casino to make him sweat. Heck, maybe you can just buy it from him if you win enough."

Angela looked over at him curiously. "So, how good at cards are you?"

He smiled crookedly at her. "Not very, admittedly."

She shrugged nonchalantly. "I suppose this means I'll have to make up for the both of us."

He raised an eyebrow. "You're a master sabaac player, are you?"

"Only when I'm very, very boozed up. Think you can provide my liquid fuel?"

"If it means that I might get a chance of wooing you between the sheets—of course," he replied with a leer. She just sighed and took it all in stride. Having been with Ran for the past year and a half, she could tell when a rake was serious about a come-on or just having a bit of fun. So far, the rogue sitting next to her was in the latter category. As long as he stayed in that category, she could rein in her unhealthy desire to bruise his face.

The casino was packed, but it was very high-end. The affluent came to the Lucky Drake to gamble their earnings on the draconian pursuits of vice and drink. She recognized more than a few faces—several of Corellia's top competitors in trade were playing sabaac by the high stakes table. She knew them only by reputation, from the exposure her father gave her when she was younger. Father always thought I'd follow in his footsteps, she recalled, so he wanted me to know the…how did he put it? The "face of my enemies."

How true that was. These opulent moneybags were the only ones standing between her and completing her quest. She tapped Bard on the shoulder. "Go buy us some drinks. Lots of brandy. '64 Corellian, if there's any in stock."

"A woman of taste as well as a Jedi," the rogue noted appreciatively. He went to acquire the drinks.

Angela made her way to the sabaac tables, fingered the Bothan dealer to give her a hand. She took one look at her cards and slid a healthy sum as her first bet. The game was on.

She lost the first few hands, but she did not mind. Her goal for those initial exchanges was to gauge the players, feel them out, learn how they played. Tendrils of Force energy flowed from her and into the other players' minds, snaking within, connecting her to their primal instincts, their high-thinking stratagems. An hour passed and then two. She started to win hand after hand after hand. She knew how they thought and how they played. They were nothing to her once she had them in her mind's eye.

Throughout the game, Bard was sitting beside her, handing her drink after drink. It loosened her up, made her lightheaded, but she felt mentally limber. The Force poured out of her and wrapped around her opponents. She felt their frustration, their indignation, and their worry. A subtle nudge toward anxiety, a further push down the road of desperation…and they fell into her trap. Another hand was hers, as was the pot. She absently noted that she had won almost ten thousand credits, just a little shy of the high-stakes games.

Another hand was hers. "I'm afraid we can't let you bet on this table again, ma'am," said the Bothan dealer. He pointed to the high-stakes table. "You're going to have to take your game over there." She nodded, practically dragging Bard over to their next game. The brandy had really loosened her up, for she was giddy with the need to play.

She slapped a hand down on the tabletop. "Deal me in," she slurred drunkenly. She must have consumed more than she thought. The drinks made her impatient. It was time to play, time to get things done and over with. The dealer and players eyed her askance, but gave her cards anyway. There was no subtlety when she the Force this time. Rather than snaky tendrils, she hammered her opponents with her mind probes, ripping their strategies from their minds. Impatient.

The hands were hers again. Ten thousand became twenty, then twenty became forty. After a few hours, it became half a million. A crowd had gathered around her. The players left, to be replaced by more daring souls. She won against them, as well. "Come on," she hiccuped. "Anyone else want to go up against me, the master sabaac player? Come on, I'm on a streak here!"

She felt Bard's hand around her shoulder. "I think you might have had a bit much," he whispered. "Get a hold of yourself." She shrugged him off.

"Hey, I'm on a winning streak here," she slurred. "It's all good!"

Security guards pushed through the crowd and addressed her gruffly. "Management would like to speak with you, miss."

"Really now?" she replied. She hiccuped again. "What's it about? I'm not cheating, I swear!"

"Just come with us, you and your friend there."

"Sure. I don't have any problems with that. Just…just let me cash in my chips, okay?"

"Now, miss." Their demands were firm, hard, and brooked no insubordination.

Bard again placed a hand on her shoulder. "Get a grip on yourself, Angela. Remember, you're here for a purpose."

His words cut through the bleary cloud of brandy that surrounded her senses. She shook her head, trying to clear it. It helped some. With a bit more control, she said to the guards, "I'll come. Lead on, sirs." As the security guards took her and Bard to the nearest turbolift, she whispered to the rogue, "Thanks for back there. I guess I kind of got lost in the moment. My apologies."

He waved a dismissive hand. "Don't worry about it. I know how it's like to be on a win streak. Just so damn hard to keep your mind on things when you're doing so well."

She nodded absently, but his reasoning did not sit well with her. As a Jedi, she should have had more control than that. The events of the last several weeks have truly unsettled her, shaken her core of discipline—it was the only explanation she could come up with for her unusual behavior at the sabaac tables. I will have to strive for better self-control, she silently vowed.

"So, what does management want with little old me?" she asked the guards as they rode up the turbolift.

"You'll find out when we get there," they replied crisply. The rest of the trip was in silence. The lift stopped at the top floor—Cain's private suite. The guards did not accompany them when she and Bard stepped into the crime lord's domain. They stood alone amidst the ill-gotten wealth of a slaver. Angela looked around.

Rare Alderaanian leather furnishings complemented Coruscanti goldwork. A portrait of Druckuss Cain pained on Bimmiel hung by a Kuati-imported silvered mirror shaped into a dragon's head. The plush carpet felt like fine down, a lavish affair from Caamas, taken before the planet's razing.

Sitting behind a desk of Worshyr wood by a wall made of glass—real glass, not transparisteel—was Druckuss Cain. He was an enormous man, tall, broad, and fat. Rolls upon layers of his massive girth meandered downward beneath his robes—which, Angela noted with bile in her throat, were made of Ewok skins. The crime lord even kept the heads on as shoulder pieces. In her heady state, still a little tipsy from the drinks, Druckuss Cain looked like some hairy demon of gluttony and greed, the incarnation of mortal sin. She wondered briefly if her opinion of him would stand when she was sober.

"You've made quite the killing down on the tables," Cain rumbled through his thick throat. It sounded like a croak. "I am Druckuss Cain, owner of this fine establishment. And I would like to know the names of the fine young woman who seems to be trying to bankrupt my business."

"I'm just playing," Angela replied, calling upon the Force to push back the slurring and the growing headache. The last thing she needed was the aftereffects of a buzz.

"You made five hundred thousand credits in under four hours," the crime lord boomed. "My inspectors and security found no fake decks, slipped cards, or double-face cards in your possession or around your person. And we've been looking hard for them. You're either that good at cheating or that good at playing." His bleary eyes bored into hers. "And I don't believe in people being that good at either. Who are you and what's your secret?"

"We're just hoping to buy something from you," she replied smoothly. "I imagine that half a million credits is suitable payment for a stone key, about this long? A fairly old piece of rock. What do you say?"

Cain was on his feet in an instant, his thick hand slapping a round button on his desk. A security alarm, no doubt. "You must be Angela Marshair," the crime lord bellowed. She bowed by way of properly introducing herself. "You've donned a convincing disguise. What is so important about these keys you keep on stealing?"

"That's none of your concern," she replied. "Just know this—I want that key, and when a Jedi wants something, be certain that it's important. Now, I can either buy it from you or I can take it from you by force. Trust me, after the time I've been having, I'd rather just buy it."

"I've heard of you, Angela Marshair," the crime lord said thickly. "You and your Master eliminated many of my kind in the span of a few months. Surely you know that this casino is a front for a slave ring. What guarantees do I have that you will leave my businesses alone?"

"None. I'll be frank—I'd like to shut down your little carnival faster than you can stuff a chicken leg into your gullet. But the key is paramount. You're just going to have to trust me when I say that all I want from you is the key."

"Then there is no deal." As if on cue, the turbolift opened, admitting a score of heavily-armed guards. The room sounded with the hum of their blasters heating. Angela saw Bard begin to sweat and his hand dove to an inside pocket of his vest, doubtless for a concealed blaster. She fingered her own weapon, hidden under her sleeve and tied to her forearm by two leather thongs.

"You're making a very big mistake," the brown-haired girl warned with a grim light in her eyes. "It would save you the lives of your minions as well as your own if you just cooperate." She decided to play her trump card. "You've no doubt heard about what I did to Admiral Adguard's men. I can knock you all onto your butts with a wave of my hand and turn aside blaster bolts with a thought."

It was a bluff. The times she actually did do those things were times of desperation, when she was grasping at straws rather than at control over the Force. How she performed those strange techniques was beyond her, and she most certainly could not summon them on command. But she hoped that Cain did not know that. She hoped that he did not make the connection between her vaunted powers and the very few times she utilized them.

The crime lord looked at her, tried to read her. She deflected his gaze with her own steely look. His thick brows folded, as did his resolve. "Stand down," he ordered. The guards lowered their weapons. "I will accept half a million credits and your word that you won't shut me down for the stone key."

Angela relaxed and let out an internal sigh. Externally, she affected a stony appearance, as if totally unfazed about what was going on around her. "Deal." She tossed a bag of sabaac chips onto his desk. "Go cash it in, then," she said with a smile.

When she and Bard left the Lucky Drake, they had the stone key in their possession.


	11. The Soul of a Knight, Ch 2

**Chapter Two: Turning of the Tide**

"I don't ever want to do that again," Bard said emphatically as they walked down to the docking center. He was sweating profusely, nervously wiping away the moisture with his sleeve. "That's cutting it a bit close to the blaster bolts."

"I wholeheartedly agree," Angela said. Unlike her companion, she was decidedly more composed. But her heart was tripping like a hammer. "I honestly didn't think he'd buy the bluff. Good thing my reputation precedes me."

He looked at her, dumbstruck. And then he laughed uproariously. "Oh, by the worlds, that's just wonderful. Bluff and bluster—I'd never imagine it from a Jedi. I didn't think you people could lie."

She smirked innocently. "It wasn't a lie. It was a bluff. There's a difference."

"Not a whole lot." They arrived at the docking center and he hailed a taxi speeder. "Since you're giving me a ship and a lightsaber, the least I can do is buy you a fare ticket to wherever you're going. Where are you going, anyway?"

"To Rakaris," she replied. "There's some things to finish. Big things. Here." She handed him her lightsaber as well as a datacard containing the security codes for the _Nebula Dancer_. "You're fee. Take good care of the ship, you hear? It's very important to me and means more than you can ever know."

"Thanks. And I promise I'll take care of it."

Taking care of things…yes, she had things to take care of, too. Suddenly, a thought struck her—a plan so devious it surprised her with its simplicity. "Bard, could you do me a favor?"

"What? You're not going to ask me to do something crazy again, I hope."

She smiled. "This is perfectly safe, I promise. Can you fix me with a long-range personal transmitter or a planetary transmitter that can be relayed through the HoloNet? I'd like to record something and send it to the Jedi Order and the Federation in real time."

"Sure. Just give me an hour to get things set. I'll be right back."

An hour later, she had the gear she needed. She extended her hand to him, which he took in a strong shake. "It was interesting working with you, Bard. If I need any information later in the future, I know exactly who to look up."

He chuckled. "Girl, I don't ever want to see you again. You're liable to get a man killed."

She could not stop herself from wincing at that.

* * *

"This is as good a ship as any," she muttered, looking up at the battered freighter. She addressed the captain. "Here's your fee, good sir. Take me straight to Rakaris, as fast as you possibly can."

"Not a problem, lady," said the captain. "No bags or anything?"

"Not a one."

"Suit yourself. Makes my job easier, at any—" His words were sharply cut as a blaster bolt took his head clean off.

Angela dodged to the side, rolling behind an empty fuel barrel, blaster bolts searing into the metal. One peek over the barrel's top revealed the identities of her attackers. She saw pressed uniforms and military-grade weapons. Rakarisian troopers—Admiral Adguard had found her.

She swore under her breath. Half an hour away from Bard and already she was right back in the thick of trouble. "I must be a magnet for this sort of thing," she mused. The only weapon she had was a blaster pistol, its battery half depleted. She was not the best marksman in the quadrant, but it was better than taking the fight hand to hand against armed soldiers.

"Give a message to your Admiral!" she shouted over the roar of laser fire. She leveled her blaster, keeping most of body behind the fuel barrel. "Tell him that if he wants even a ghost of a chance at beating me, he's got to come after me himself!" Red blaster bolts erupted from her weapon, spraying wildly in the direction of her opponents. A few troopers fell dead, but most simply took cover and returned fire.

The gunfight was at a standoff. She had the advantage of cover, forcing her foes to attack her from one angle. They had the numbers. I can't keep this up, Angela thought. I have to find a way out. I have to find a way off this planet. She looked around frantically for a way to break the firefight—and she found it in a ventilation duct bound to the wall above the troopers. A quick Force tug brought a large chunk of the ductwork crashing down on her enemies, knocking them unconscious.

Angela fished her credits from the dead freighter captain. "Now I have to find another ship," she said softly.

* * *

The trip to Rakaris took almost two weeks, courtesy of a fifth-rate hyperdrive engine. The shuttle conveyance was cramped, the food was lousy, and the hyperspace trip was slow and dull, without so much as an in-flight holovid to alleviate the boredom. But that was fine with her. She spent most of her time in quiet meditation, thinking back on everything that had happened in the past few months.

She thought about her parents. She had estranged herself from them under poor circumstances. Words were said that would forever distance her from them, words that left her repentant at heart but far too proud to admit them, much less speak them aloud. To her mind, it was her parents' fault. They demanded that she put herself in a cage of their devising, stripped of freedom and life—the hallowed halls of matrimony to a weak-willed fop.

They said it was for her own good, that her arranged husband would be a positive influence on her. In truth, it was a marriage of convenience, one that would expand the family holdings. She was expected to surrender her individuality and play the role of a pawn for something as petty as trade routes and profits. But she simply could not run from her family on just a bit of impertinence. She needed a legitimate reason to run. And so she sliced the files of the school dean, earning her enmity of the police as well as the indignation of her parents. Seizing the opportunity, she fled to find a life for herself.

As a result, she fell in with bad crowds, running with gangs and drug lords, setting up illusion acts and magic shows to make ends meet. It made a decent enough living, if questionable and unfulfilling. Being a con artist was something she had always been good at, and bilking money from wide-eyed tourists soon became another thing she was good at. But then she made the mistake of falling in with the underworld, asking for money from loan sharks tied with the syndicates. Her life went from bad to worse once she set foot down that dark road.

She thought about Ran. Memories of him were strongest in her mind, for he had left such impact on her life. They met under unscrupulous circumstances, circumstances that united them against a particularly resilient and dangerous underworld crime boss that she owed money to. Ran offered to take her as an apprentice. She accepted—what other option did she have? The Jedi Order gave her a place in the galaxy that she had been searching for.

As a Jedi, she found herself with new responsibilities. No longer did she strive to succeed for her own sake. Now a galaxy looked up to her for guidance and protection. She tried to do the right thing, but she always believed that she would do the greatest good by diving into the thick of things, by immersing herself in action and violence. Gang lords, drug dealers, slavers, smugglers, crime bosses—all fell to her determination and hard justice. Ran taught her throughout her adventures, instructed her in compassion and wisdom, encouraged her to curb her excitability and bold nature. It would not be until later that those lessons finally sunk in.

They did not become lovers until much later, when she finally admitted her feelings for him on the space station _Yavin_. She remembered fondly how he swept her off her feet and brought her into the cabins of the _Nebula Dancer_ and proceeded to teach her the various sexual techniques he had learned in his career as a rogue. The memory of that night would forever be burned into her mind—when she flew amongst the stars upon the wings of ecstasy.

Their nights of passion were always ones of love. Sex became the physical outlet of the feelings in their hearts. Many of the Jedi Order thought their relationship was inappropriate. It was an understandable conclusion. He was ten years her senior; she was only seventeen when they became lovers. But that did not stop them from loving one another. "Love conquered all"—it was so trite to her mind, but she was living out that adage every day she spent with Ran, every night she curled in bed beside him.

That all changed when they came to Rakaris.

She thought about the mission to Rakaris, the mission that led them to a nameless world outside of the Dagobah system. The mission that drove a red-bladed lightsaber through her lover's chest, leaving his corpse to cool in her arms. He said words to her as he lay dying, but she had forgotten them in her sorrow. She could only remember the stillness of his flesh, the shallowness of his breathing, the light leaving his green eyes. The soft whisper of his robes as his body vanished, becoming one with the Force.

His death almost drove her to the dark side. She directed anger, hatred—pure, simple, passionate, true—at Admiral Adguard, the man who had sent them on that fateful mission. He used them to further his own nefarious, selfish ends. For Ran to have died for something so petty as self-advancement was more than she could bear. She convinced herself that she sought Adguard's defeat to protect the galaxy and to avenge Ran, when, in truth, it was sate her growing hatred. The dark side had her in its grasp, and its supple, murky, black fingers tightened around her with time.

She thought about the guardian she confronted on Hoth. She fought to claim one of the keys, but the darkness had taken her then. The guardian fell to her anger, but not before giving her a sad look that she understood only after she had trod the paths of darkness. The guardian had foreseen just how close to the dark side she would walk, how many souls would be consumed because she forgot Ran's warnings about its evil. The guardian saw the black future and tried to show her that sadness. She had not heeded the silent warning.

She thought about the week of torture she had been subjected to on the _Fortune of Demise_. The humiliation, the pain, the frustration and desperation, the hopelessness. It had broken her, that week of agony. The darkness could not sustain her. It left her bereft and alone. Without allies or even the shadow of hope to cling to. Then came the light—giving her a renewed sense of purpose. She had a new mission, drawn not from duty to the Federation or the Jedi, drawn not from the desire for revenge. It was drawn from doing the right thing.

How many had died because of her? Ran Tonno-Skeve, Master and lover; Kanig and Ooroosh, comrades in arms; the crew of the _Ardent Soldier_, dead for doing their duty; Admiral LeFrein, a good man trying to do the right thing. How many more would join the parade of souls left in her wake? She did not know. But she knew one thing. There would be one last corpse to throw onto the pile, one last soul to send off the mortal coil.

Admiral Adguard.

Rakaris loomed beneath her. The docking center came ever closer. The shuttle landed and she disembarked. She had no baggage, no passports, no papers. She came and went with impunity. A subtle wave of her hand, a subtler touch of the Force, ensured that none saw her or noted her passing. Not even the security cameras or droid guards noticed her; all they saw was an indistinct shadow of a human being. She had no identity or form as she made her way through the docking center to the taxis waiting outside.

She picked one at random and named a destination. The driver nodded and took her there, wished her a good day when she paid her fare. Then she stepped out onto the sidewalk and looked up at the majestic iron fences that surrounded Admiral Adguard's mansion.

"I'm coming for you," she murmured.

* * *

Admiral Adguard listened to the report of his latest failures. "She did it again, majordomo," he said in disbelief. "We had her cornered, trapped with no way out. And she beat a score of my best troops? And how did she beat them, majordomo? By dropping a ventilation duct on them. By dropping parts of buildings that even maintenance workers don't want to crawl through! She's beyond my comprehension, majordomo! I simply cannot see how she can defy me again and again and _again_!"

"Angela Marshair is a woman who must not be underestimated," the majordomo replied soothingly, trying to mollify his commander.

"I know that, you fool!" Adguard roared. "We've tried everything—bounty hunters, legions, torture—nothing fazes her! Nothing slows her down! She's inhuman, majordomo. She must be some kind of vile demon."

"I believe you are now overestimating her, sir."

"A metaphor, you twit." He sighed and struggled to regain his composure. "Send an order to the bridge. The _Fortune of Demise_ is to send out all scouting ships and observation droids into the Corellian system. Sweep the place. I want her found—dead or alive, this time."

"Sir, if we do that, we'll violate—"

He pounded his fist on his desk, sending papers and pencil racks a few centimeters into the air. "I don't care about protocol and policy, majordomo! I gave an order and I expect it to be obeyed. Send an order to the bridge," he repeated in low, dangerous tones. "This ship is to send out all scouting ships and observation droids into the Corellian system. They are to sweep the region, go over it with a fine-toothed comb. Do whatever it takes to find Angela Marshair. If you have to break Federation laws, do so. If you have to destroy Federation ships, so be it."

"Sir, this is very unadvisable."

"I did not ask for advice, majordomo. Obey."

The majordomo left with a sharp salute, leaving the Admiral alone. He sighed and looked out the viewport into the starry darkness of space. He felt so tired. Victory was within his grasp, kept at bay by the tenacity and determination of one teenaged girl. "A demon," he murmured into the emptiness.

* * *

Circumventing the gates was easy. All she had to do was call upon the Force to give her the strength to leap over them. The sentry guns posed little threat to her, though they were an unexpected inconvenience. They opened fire on her as she walked up the cobblestone path, forcing her to roll to the side. A series of telekinetic bursts left the droid guns in shattered pieces. A troop complement tried to bar her entry to the mansion proper. She threw them aside with a wave of her hand, before they could even get a shot off.

The halls of the mansion seemed to crawl with guards, all of which she cast about like toys in her hands. They could not harm her or even touch her. They simply fell to her might and whim. She did not run nor hurry. She just walked, casually and leisurely. Nothing in all the universe could stop her. She stormed Adguard's home with impunity.

She was like a goddess, resplendent, fearsome, beautiful. She was an elemental force, unstoppable, all-powerful, incomprehensible. Power surged within her and she used it with care. She used only enough to achieve her goals. A wave of the hand brought men to their knees and no further. A nod of her head crushed machinery, but never did she turn her destructive inclinations toward the living. That was small comfort to the scores she left in her wake, scores who nursed broken bones and bruised heads.

Finally, she found the Admiral's office. The door was sealed and locked. The merest touch of her finger splintered the rare Hggian oak like so much glass. She waltzed in and sat in the cushioned chair, propped her booted feet on the polished desk. And she settled down to wait.

* * *

"Sir," the majordomo ventured cautiously, far too aware of his superior's foul mood. "I've just received word that there is an intruder in your mansion.

"I don't care about that," the Admiral said. He was reading a detailed report from the scout ships. So far, all investigations were inconclusive. Somehow, Angela Marshair had managed to elude all forms of planetary identification recordings, space travel registrations, and orbital scout ships. His men had rubbed against the Corellian defense forces more than once already, had been threatened with political upheaval if they did not desist their unwarranted searches. The Admiral dismissed the Corellians without a thought.

"Sir, you really should take a look at the mansion reports."

"I'm busy with reports _now_, majordomo."

"But sir—it is confirmed that Jedi Angela Marshair is at your mansion at this very moment."

The Admiral stopped—his movements, his thinking, even his breathing halted, trapped in the instant of hearing her name. Finally, he regained his wits enough to speak. "How fast can we return to Rakaris?"

"Sir?"

"I said _how fast can we return to Rakaris?_" he shouted. His patience had long since disappeared in the flames of his desperation. He was so close! And she was in his home!

"Uh…normally it would take a week, but if we pour all available energy sources in the hyperdrive, we should be able to return in five hours."

"Make it three hours, majordomo. I don't care what has to be done, but I want to be on Rakaris as soon as possible. Make any sacrifice you must. I want to be there _now_."

* * *

None dared to enter the office. They were all afraid of her. She did not enjoy it one bit. What she was doing was dancing the edge of the dark side once again. But it was necessary—this was the most expedient path, the path that would prevent more lives from being destroyed.

But a small part of her wondered just how far would necessity push her before she willingly reveled in the darkness.

She cleared her mind of such musings. Right now, in this moment, she had to be a Jedi. She had to be in complete control: of the situation, of the outcome, and most importantly, of herself. Ran, she prayed silently, give me your strength. Show me your rakish smile one more time. Ran had always managed to smile in the face of even the grimmest of disasters. He had smiled into the face of death itself. His courage would be welcome.

She waited for three hours. And then a strapping figure entered the room.

"Admiral Adguard," she greeted with false warmth. She dropped her feet from the desk and stood. "It's about time you showed up."


	12. The Soul of a Knight, Ch 3

**Chapter Three: A Knight Alone**

They sat alone in the office, she behind the desk, him in front of it. There were no guards, no security droids, no weapons. He did not have so much as a hold-out blaster on his person. She had gotten rid of her blaster pistol and she no longer had a lightsaber. They were on a perfectly even field—a true limbo between enemies.

"I certainly wasn't expecting this," Adguard admitted. "A direct assault? It isn't your style. You're more subtle than that. Elusive. Impossible to catch. A ghost."

Angela nodded. "Which is precisely why I did it. I can run circles around you forever, Adguard. But I realized that I'd never be able to touch you, just as you would never be able to touch me. One of us had to make a move. I took the gamble, cast the dice, and made my move."

She laid down a single object on the desk: a stone key. Her eyes bored into his. "It's time to end this game of cat and mouse, Adguard."

He looked at the item and slowly added two more. All three keys lay side by side, reunited for the first time in untold aeons. "So here they are," he said simply. "And here we are. We both want them. I to rise to power and glory. You to foil me."

"The _Fall of Empire_ will not be used, Adguard," she said coldly. "I won't let you activate it. Ran would agree with me, as did LeFrein. I won't let you raise an empire built on this kind of power. I'll watch you burn in hell before I let you—or anyone else—use a superweapon on this galaxy."

"And I will see you burn before I let you push me aside," he retorted. "I will have the _Fall of Empire_, Marshair. Once the keys are mine, I'll become an emperor. This galaxy will be under my heel. And I won't let you stop me."

A smile split her face. "And as you told me on the _Fortune of Demise_, we play our roles," she said. "The heroine and the villain. Don't they fight to the death?"

"I'm not a fighter, but yes."

"I'm a fighter, Adguard, but I have no weapon. So I guess we'll have to think up another way to play the roles we've been cast in."

He sneered. "I assume that this is all part of some masterful Jedi plan, right?"

She nodded deferentially, acceding to his observation. "You could say that. Think about it, Adguard. You've separated me from civilization. You've framed me for murder, revealed my theft to the galaxy, and left me without a single friend to turn to. You did a fine job in running me up against a wall. But I'm not even half-finished. I've still got a few tricks left.

"Look at yourself, Adguard. You came after me when I came out of hiding. I suspected that you'd be on the lookout for me—and like a fine little sheep, you came running for me. You crossed political boundaries to get me and the key, which leaves you in quite a pickle. We're even, Adguard. Our resources are gone. Your ships, your contacts, your bounty hunters. My friends, the Jedi Order, the Federation itself. It's just you and me now."

"And this is supposed to carry out my downfall how?" the Admiral grunted. "The way I see it, I still have a card of my own to play. On this planet, I am god. These people are mine to do with as I please. I just have to give the world and everyone will be all over you in a heartbeat. I have six billion meat shields to use against you and your cursed Jedi sorcery."

She smiled with such vicious delight that the Admiral was taken aback. "I'm glad you think so highly of your people, Admiral," she said in merry tones. She drew a rectangular object from a belt pouch. "Everyone on the HoloNet wanted to see you so candid about them."

The object in her hand was a recorder.

The Admiral balked, his eyes wide and fearful.

"We had our fight," she said tones suddenly hard and unforgiving, "and I won. It's all over for you, Adguard. Really, I should kill you now for the slimy piece of shit that you are. You killed my lover, my friends, and a hundred other good men in your bid for power. You tortured me and broke me in body and soul. You set me on the run, a starved and frightened fugitive without a friend in the universe. For all that, I should murder you right now."

The Admiral simply sat there, dumbfounded and defeated.

"But you know what, Adguard? I'm not going to. And do you know why? It's because I'm a Jedi. I know you'll regret ever crossing me for the rest of your life while you sit in your jail cell."

She smiled at him, throwing the gleam of victory into her eyes. "Say hello to the cockroaches for me."

* * *

"The Rakarisians will be under a provisional government instated by the Federation," Master Skywalker said. It had been three days since Admiral Adguard was arrested for high treason to his people and for endangering the peace of the galaxy. The Admiral now spent his days locked in a cold jail cell in Rakaris' darkest prison.

"They will transition into their previous government after the democratic powers reestablish themselves," Master Skywalker continued. "Estimations say that Rakaris will be back under democratic rule in about half a year. Maybe less."

Angela nodded absently. "That's good to hear. I'm glad that things are working out well for them. Admiral LeFrein would have wanted it this way." They were silent for a long moment.

"I'm very sorry about Ran," Master Skywalker said sorrowfully, breaking the quiet. "He was not the best of Jedi, nor the strongest. But he was, in his own way, one of the wisest among us. He knew that a Jedi could be of no use to anyone if he did not enjoy life, and he most certainly tried to teach us that life can be—indeed, should be—enjoyed."

Again she nodded absently. "I loved him, you know," she said quietly, distantly.

Master Skywalker closed his eyes. "I know. I did not approve of your relationship with him, but it seemed to have been conducive to your training. He would have been very proud of you."

"Thank you, Master Skywalker. That means a lot to me." She did not mean the words but she knew that tact demanded she acknowledge his praise.

"Admiral Toniss Adguard has been imprisoned. His plan is foiled. The _Fall of Empire_ has been destroyed and its keys likewise demolished. What will you do now?"

"I do not know," she said honestly. Her eyes firmed and so did her resolve. "My path is unpaved, but I am a Jedi Knight—any road I take is one that I will explore with my eyes open."

Master Skywalker looked at her with surprise. "You say that so readily, Angela. You have only spent a year and a half in training. To claim that you are a Jedi Knight…."

She spun on him, her aura resolute. "Master Skywalker, I _am_ a Jedi Knight, like my Master before me. Like you before me. My training was short, yes, but it is complete. I am sure of it. Please, trust in Ran's tutelage. He may not have been the best Jedi, but he taught me things that prove his wisdom and experience." She proudly squared her shoulders.

"As of this day, I am a Jedi Knight."

* * *

**The Funeral**

She stood alone on a grassy knoll outside of Atari City. Night had fallen, blanketing the sky above with blackness and starlight. Before her was a neat rectangular stack of tree limbs and leaves, as high as her waist and twice her breadth. The wood glimmered in the starlight—the stack had been soaked in oil.

How much had she lost to come this far?

Ooroosh, Kanig, the _Nebula Dancer_. Ran. All gone, reduced to nothing but memories. She remembered the grandfatherly Aqualish and his stained flight suit, the smell and the gurgle, the old reliability he exuded. She remembered the shy Zabrak, thrown into adventure and determined to walk the path laid before him, relying on his own skill and bravery. She remembered a rickety, temperamental ship, her home for the past year and a half, where many wonderful memories were made. She remembered, above all else, Ran Tonno-Skeve, who stole her heart and gave her so much more in return.

Reverently, she laid a folded bundle of clothes upon the stack. First were the trousers, made of simple homespun. Then the tunic, of the same material, then the blue outer tunic, and the dark blue cloak. Upon those she set a battered old leather belt and a pair of knee-high boots. These were the garments of Ran Tonno-Skeve, the only material possessions he left behind. It was time to burn away his memory.

What did she gain? Adguard was beaten, order restored, the might of the fledgling Federation secured against another crisis. But her victory rang hollow, for she stood alone in triumph. What triumph could there be when only one stood? It meant nothing to her now, tainted as it was by the blood of those who walked her road. She had lost everything but the memories.

She lit a branch, held it aloft like a torch. She tossed it upon the oil-drenched stack and stood back. Yellow tongues of flame licked the wood, burned it to ashes, stroked the leather and homespun, burning and curling and destroying them. There were no tears in her eyes this time. Only the lonely emptiness in her soul. Ran was gone—Ran, and Ooroosh, and Kanig, and Admiral LeFrein, and all those others in her life—and she had to accept that and move on.

She stood there and watched as the funeral pyre burned itself out. She said no words. None were needed. Her heart screamed silently in mourning, but she kept the words bottled inside, her own private pain.

Time would heal all wounds, it was said. But it could never heal it fast enough.

When the smoldering ashes finally settled, she drew her cloak tightly around her and turned away from the dying pyre. Finally, she spoke. It was only a single word, but it marked the turning point of her life. It summed her feelings about the man she had lost, the friends she had lost, the innocence she had lost. It was a single word, but it carried the weight of the universe on its shoulders. It would be the only word she would say while the fire burned itself out.

That word was goodbye.

**End A Knight Alone**


End file.
